


Tempting Fate

by clotpolesonly



Series: Merlin Ambrosius, King of Carthis [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Royalty, BAMF Merlin, F/M, Gen, King Merlin - Freeform, Magical kingdom, Magical manipulation, Major Original Character(s), Original setting, Royal!Merlin, political maneuvering, remix eligible, the sidekicks are always right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 59,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6976294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's hold on his throne is secure and his people love him, but now he must determine who is responsible for Aithusa's stunted growth and injuries. With magic now legal in Camelot, Arthur struggles to maintain good relations with the other monarchs. The assassins after Merlin's head could belong to any one of them, each as hostile and suspicious as the next. And something—or someone—has got Mordred acting very strangely.</p><p>In this long-awaited sequel to To Be A King, secrets will be uncovered, old friends will show their true colors, and loyalties will be put to the ultimate test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well here it is! To be completely honest, this has been technically finished since early January and I just haven't been willing to post it. I'm still vaguely dissatisfied and there might be a rewrite/revision at some point in the future, but by now I've decided to just say fuck it. I've kept you guys waiting far too long as it is, so HERE YOU GO.

“Arthur, are you sure this is a good idea?”

It wasn’t the first time Merlin had asked that question. He tapped a quill against the tabletop, leaving splotches of black ink on the wood, sounding a nervous rhythm that made Arthur reach over and tug the offending writing instrument out of his hand and toss it aside.

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur replied yet again. “Now are you going to help me get armoured or not? I’ve got training with the knights in half an hour.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Not your servant anymore,” he said, as if Arthur really needed reminding. He got to his feet to fetch Arthur’s armour anyway, laying the pieces out on Arthur’s desk in the proper order as he had always done. Arthur smirked at him, obnoxiously smug as usual, and held out his arms to be dressed.

“Really, though, this summit?” Merlin said, fussing with a buckle on the breastplate as he fitted it in place. “It just _reeks_ of trouble. How can it possibly be a good idea for you to have all the powerful people with reason to hate you in one room at the same time? It’s an assassination waiting to happen!”

“Merlin, you came here to discuss the regulation of luck charms, not to critique my political stratagem.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t come here intending to dress you either, but here I am,” Merlin countered wryly, fastening the pauldron on.

Arthur snorted.

“Look, I know you’re just concerned for my safety,” he said, “and I understand why you’re so worried. Really, I do. But I have to face them some time.” He shrugged. “Everything that went down in the last few months is…scandalous, to say the very least.  All of your numerous secrets being brought forth into open air has caused a lot of ruffled feathers among the people you fooled, and many of them don’t believe that I’m among their number.”

Merlin frowned, focusing on a particularly stubborn buckle that didn’t want to sit right rather than looking at Arthur.

“They think I used you against them, Merlin,” Arthur said bluntly. “They think I knowingly—and _treasonously_ —kept a pet sorcerer at my side while insisting that no one else be allowed the use of magic, all to make absolutely certain that Camelot had an advantage over all the other kingdoms in the land. Now, I don’t know exactly what they think of your newfound lineage at this point, but we’re safe to assume they won’t think the best of us on that front either. So we need to talk to them, set the record straight, and convince them of our good intentions.”

“That’s exactly it, though, Arthur,” Merlin said. “ _We_ need talk to them. _We_ do, the both of us together. Tell me again why I’m not invited to this summit?”

Arthur sighed. “You make them nervous.”

Merlin scoffed.

“You do,” Arthur insisted, smiling a bit at the very thought of Merlin intimidating anyone, even though he had seen enough of Merlin’s power by now to know that any wariness was perfectly warranted. “You’re a variable that none of them predicted. They’re not prepared for you and don’t know how to handle the situation you present.

“I, on the other hand, am a known quantity,” he continued with a gesture to his person that had Merlin chasing after the vambrace he was trying to fasten on with a grumble of frustration. “They’ve all had dealings with me before; they know how I operate and what motivates me. Even if they think me guilty of duplicitous and underhanded actions, they’re still willing to give me the benefit of the doubt and at least hear what I have to say.”

“I really don’t think Odin is the type to give anyone the benefit of the doubt,” Merlin said. “Especially not you. Judging by, you know, the decade-long blood feud you’ve got going on. And Alined looks for any excuse to create war and cause strife between the kingdoms. You know that.”

“Merlin—”

“And Sarrum of Amata? Really, Arthur? That man is bloodthirsty and cruel, and also one of the most notorious advocates for destroying magic in all the land. Even your father steered clear of him! He’s _that_ ruthless! He’s known for assassinating his allies and putting their heads on spikes. And you want to invite him into your kingdom—the kingdom where you are currently in the process of legalizing the magic that he so hates—and you want to do it without me there to protect you?”

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said, his exasperation finally winning out. “Believe it or not, I don’t actually need you hovering over my shoulder every hour of every day. I did manage to survive for nineteen years before you showed up.”

“Maybe, but that was before everyone and their mother decided to paint a big red circle on your back and use you for target practice.”

“Merlin, I can’t have you there,” Arthur said definitively. “Your presence will only put them all on the defensive and then they’ll be damn near impossible to win over.”

The last buckle clicked into place and Arthur brushed Merlin’s fretful hands away so he could turn and face him properly.

“Eventually you will have to plead your case with them as well,” he said, “but you need to let me have my shot at it first or nothing will ever be resolved and Albion will never be peaceful and united as we wish it to be.”

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, chewing on his tongue to keep from sounding even more like a mother hen than he already did.

“Albion will never be peaceful and united if you’re dead,” he shot back without much hope, knowing the argument was already lost.

“I’ve got dozens of knights, Merlin. Maybe try letting them do their jobs for once. And besides,” he added, picking up his sword and twirling it, the blade slicing through the air with a whistle, “I’m not exactly helpless myself, you know.”

It was Merlin’s turn to smirk. He opened his mouth but Arthur saw his intent written all over his face.

“Oh, don’t you have a kingdom of your own to run?” he asked waspishly as he sheathed his sword.

Merlin made a noncommittal humming noise, pursing his lips and scratching at the thick growth of hair that he still was not used to having there.

Arthur had laughed out loud when Merlin had first announced his intention to grow a beard, but he’d stopped laughing and started pouting instead when he realized that Merlin was much better at growing a beard than he had ever been. Now, a month past his resolution, he kept it full and neatly trimmed, and he hadn’t had a single person refer to him as “boy” in all that time.

“Technically,” Merlin answered the question with a shrug. “But, er…not right now.”

“What do you mean, not right now?” Arthur asked, baffled. “Kingship isn’t a transitory position.”

Merlin threw himself down in Arthur’s favorite chair with a huff. “Ellison and Gerund kicked me out,” he admitted. “Of my own kingdom! Can you believe that? Everything’s calm now, so they say I’m not allowed to come back until I’ve visited my mother.”

Arthur had himself a good laugh over that. Merlin considered making his trousers fall down in payback, but he figured that such petty revenge was probably beneath his dignity now that he was a king.

“Really, Merlin?” Arthur asked, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “It’s been almost _another_ two months and you still haven’t talked to her? That poor woman!”

“I’ve been busy!”

“Not as busy as you were before the war with Morgana came to a head,” Arthur argued. “Your kingdom is at peace, your cousin is proving to be an efficient and reliable regent for when you’re otherwise occupied, and traveling long distances takes approximately two and a half seconds for you. What’s preventing you from making the trip out there?”

“I just didn’t want to leave Carthis before I got an answer from Kilgharrah,” Merlin said.

Arthur’s expression softened. “He still hasn’t figured out what to do about Aithusa?”

“No,” Merlin said, picking up the discarded quill again, turning it over and over in his fingers. “Dragons are creatures of magic themselves, so using magic to affect them is practically impossible. There’s really nothing to be done to heal scars and old injuries even on humans, so doing so on dragons is probably a lost cause, even for me.”

“But you think a god’s power could manage it?”

Arthur took the quill from him again. This time Merlin used magic to get it back, whacking Arthur round the head with it for good measure. Arthur flicked his ear, and Merlin graciously refrained from retaliating and letting the whole thing devolve into another juvenile shoving match.

“All creatures of magic are born of the Old Religion,” Merlin continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “myself included. If there’s anything that could alter a dragon on a fundamental level, it would be a deity whose power stems from the same source. The problem is finding one that’s willing to aid me in this endeavor. Gods and goddesses aren’t exactly known for hearing the pleas of men.”

“Well, if there’s anyone they would listen to, it’s you,” Arthur said in his best attempt at encouraging. “The Great Dragon will figure something out soon and you’ll have everything resolved in no time.”

Merlin gave him a weak smile. “Yeah, sure. I just hate seeing Aithusa like this in the meantime.”

“How is he?”

“It’s hard to tell since he can’t speak, but it’s obvious that some of his old wounds still pain him,” Merlin said. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, shoving down the wave of guilt that always threatened to overwhelm him when he thought of the ordeal he had allowed his little dragon to suffer. “He is looking healthier though,” he added, “now that he’s being properly taken care of.”

“That’s good,” Arthur said with a smile. Arthur had taken a liking to Aithusa when he’d visited Carthis. Whenever he had had free time in between the official meetings with the royal council and the unofficial tours of the kingdom Merlin had insisted on taking him and Gwen on, he had spent it in the Roost, coaxing the skittish creature into eating cutlets from his hand.

“I could take you back for a visit, if you want to see him,” Merlin offered in the most innocent of tones.

Arthur leveled him with a very unimpressed look. “I don’t think so, Merlin. Ellison had the right of it. You—” He pointed a finger at Merlin. “—are going to Ealdor if I have to escort you there myself.”

“You’ve got a summit meeting in two days; you don’t have time to escort me anywhere,” Merlin grumbled.

“Exactly, and I will be very cross if I have to take the time out of my very busy schedule to handhold you and your mother and make you talk to each other. So off you go. Right now, go on. I’ve got things to do. ”

Arthur made shooing motions in his direction. When Merlin didn’t immediately hop to obey, he dragged Merlin bodily from the chair and gave him a push toward the door.

“But I have to find Mordred and Cecily,” Merlin protested. “Who knows where they’ve gotten off to? Probably off snogging in an alcove somewhere. And Raime! Raime’s probably still getting supplies. Or lost! He gets lost easily. It may be days before we find him. I once got trapped in the tunnels under the walls and couldn’t find my way out for hours—”

“I guarantee you they will all be in the stables, ready to go and just waiting for you to get your arse moving.”

With that, Arthur promptly shoved Merlin out the door and shut it behind him. Merlin stared at the door, marveling at the lengths Arthur would go to just to get one up on him; the things Arthur had to do weren’t even _in_ his room and he’d just locked himself in so that Merlin couldn’t procrastinate anymore.

Merlin had almost convinced himself to do as he was told when Arthur abruptly appeared in the doorway again.

“Speaking of Mordred, do you really need him on this trip?” he asked.

Merlin frowned. “Um. I suppose not.”

“Do you think I could borrow him for a few days?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow and said, “For what exactly?”

“For use as a liaison,” Arthur said, leaning against the doorframe. “He did well during the battle preparations making sure Gerund and Leon were on the same page. The other monarchs are bound to have questions about you and yours that I won’t be equipped to answer, so I figured I could compile a list of questions every night that Mordred could take back to Carthis to get answers for.”

“Oh, so Mordred can meet the other monarchs and I can’t?” Merlin asked, just for clarification purposes and not in the least because he was feeling distinctly petulant over being left out.

“Merlin, the last time you saw Lord Bayard you accused him of treason,” Arthur said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And you juggled in Queen Annis’ court as a fool. Give them some time to get used to the idea of you being a royal dragon-riding warlock of legend and prophecy. And besides, he won’t actually be attending the summit either, just ferrying messages around.”

Merlin rolled his eyes again and said, “Fine. It’s not as if I really need his protection anyway. Lady Cecily will be more than enough. Though I’m sure she and Mordred will lament being parted,” he added with a rather suggestive grin.

Arthur chuckled. “I think the young lovers can handle a few days apart,” he said. “Send Mordred to the training grounds when you head out, will you?”

“Yeah, alright.”

This time when Arthur closed the door, it stayed closed. Merlin shook his head at it, knowing that Arthur was just waiting to hear him leave before heading out to training. But now Merlin had no recourse left to him. He would have to face his mother sometime and it seemed everyone was conspiring against him to make sure that time was now. He gave himself a shake and headed for the stables.

 

 

* * *

 

_She laughed as she ran, the high grasses tickling her legs as she passed through them. The wind blew her hair into her eyes, but she knew these woods well enough that it didn’t hinder her flight. A figure brushed past her, nearly knocking her off her stride. A head of dark hair bobbed through the trees in front of her, the distance between them growing as Mordred made use of his longer legs._

_“Hey! Wait for me!” she cried, pushing herself harder._

_Mordred looked back and smiled at her, slowing his stride to let her catch up. She didn’t stop when she reached him though. Instead she leapt at him, tackling him to the ground. He shouted in surprise. They rolled as they hit the ground, not caring in the least about the grass stains that would cover their clothes when they were finished or how their parents would scold them, and she finally managed to pin him down._

_“There,” she said conclusively. “I won.”_

_“Are you sure about that?” Mordred asked._

_She frowned down at him. Really, she should have seen it coming, but she still managed to be surprised when she was knocked back by nothing but air. Then Mordred was straddling her legs, holding her wrists down and looking terribly smug about it._

_“That’s cheating!” she said._

_“Not when you have magic too,” Mordred countered. “You could do the same thing to me.”_

_“You know my magic’s not that strong. Not like yours,” she said, trying not to sound as jealous as she was. “You could do anything in the world, Mordred. I can barely start a fire, and that’s if I concentrate real hard.”_

_“Oh, you could do more than that,” he said reassuringly. “You’re just too young. You’ll grow into your magic when you’re older. That’s what the elders say, at least.”_

_She pushed Mordred off her so she could sit up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “But you already have yours,” she said. “You’re even younger than I am, and you’re already stronger than half the grownups in the camp. If you haven’t even grown into your powers yet, then you’ll be one of the strongest ever!”_

_“I don’t know about that,” Mordred said, sitting back on his heels and biting his lip._

_“Really, Mordred,” she insisted. “You could be the best if you tried.”_

_“I do try!”_

_“I guess.” She ripped a handful of grass blades out of the earth and sprinkled them around her, then reached for a new handful. “You could probably try harder though.”_

_She looked up to see Mordred frowning at her, but he smiled when he saw her looking._

_“Come on,” he said. “We should get back before your mum comes looking for us.”_

_She let him pull her to her feet again and they took off running toward home._


	2. Chapter 2

Mordred, Cecily, and Raime were indeed waiting for Merlin in the stables when he arrived, just as Arthur had predicted. Raime was busily trying to stuff four days’ worth of food into a pack only fit for two, while Mordred and Cecily brushed down their steeds and chatted. They all looked up when he came in the door, smiling innocently as if they weren’t taking great pleasure in the fact that he’d just been as thoroughly chastised by Arthur as he had been by Ellison three days previous.

Merlin dismissed the castle guard who had insisted on escorting him all the way to the stables despite knowing full well that Merlin had practically lived in there for eleven years’ time. He was one of the few who still did so, claiming now that he was looking out for the Carthisian King’s safety rather than keeping on an eye on the dangerous sorcerer invading his kingdom and making sure he didn’t run amok.

Luckily, the majority of the more antagonistic guards and knights had lost their fervor when Sir Bruin, the knight who had drawn his sword on Merlin and only not been executed for it due to his target’s merciful impulses, had been assigned to duty in the farthest reaches of one of the farthest outposts of Camelot. The dissenters were reduced to passive aggression now, which was unsurprisingly ineffective. This one left with little fuss, only a hard backward glance.

“So are we going to Ealdor?” Mordred asked.

“We are,” Merlin confirmed. “But you’re not.”

“What?” Mordred cried.

“Arthur has requested that you be available to carry information back and forth between him and Ellison during his summit meeting. It’s a very important task that I would entrust to no other,” Merlin said.

Mordred scowled at him, seeing straight through his attempt to make it seem like some magnanimous gesture instead of the glorified errand-running that it was.

“It’s alright, Mordred,” Cecily said, putting a comforting hand on his arm. “It’s not like Ealdor’s going to be thrilling or anything. You’ve probably got the more exciting job.”

“I bet he was just looking forward to seeing Merlin get scolded by his mum,” Raime said, taking a hunk of cheese out of the bag to make room for the two loafs of bread he hadn’t managed to fit in there yet.

“Well, he won’t get to,” Merlin said, taking the bag out of Raime’s hand. He got everything packed in properly and handed it back. “Raime, run back to Gaius real quick and see if he finished that letter he wanted to write my mother. He hasn’t seen her in longer than I have and I know he wanted to get back in touch.

Raime nodded, strapped the bag onto Llamrei, and headed for the stable doors. He stopped before he reached them and looked back, suddenly sheepish.

“I don’t actually remember where Gaius’s chambers are,” he admitted.

“I do,” Cecily said with a sigh. “Come on then.” She dragged him out by the arm, her long braid swinging behind her.

Merlin turned to see Mordred staring after her with a smile on his face that probably qualified as dopey. Merlin had to smother a laugh in his hand and resisted the urge to snap his fingers in front of Mordred’s face to wake him up from his love-struck daze. He turned his attention to his horse and waited for Mordred to come out of it on his own.

“Merlin?”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to—well, I was wondering if—I just—”

Merlin turned to look at Mordred curiously, not used to hearing the assured young knight so uncertain. Mordred had a blush on his cheeks.

“I just wondered…what you thought I should do…about Cecily,” he finally managed.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Do about her?”

“I mean, I really like her,” Mordred admitted in an embarrassed rush. “But I don’t know what to do about that.”

Merlin chuckled. He turned back to Llamrei, checking over her tack with the efficiency that came with years of practice. “Mordred, if you’re looking for advice on how to court a girl, then I’m afraid that you have come to the wrong man.”

Mordred came up alongside him, frowning lightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I have just as little as experience with women as you do, if not less,” Merlin said with a sigh.

“Really?” Mordred said, sounding gratifyingly surprised.

Merlin shrugged. “I never had the time. Arthur was always my first priority. I focused all of my time and energy on keeping him safe. There was no room for anything else.”

“There’s really never been anyone?” Mordred asked. “But you’re—!” He gestured expansively at Merlin’s person.

Merlin had to smile at that. “Thanks, I guess. For whatever that means. But if you’re referring to the kingship, then it’s rather new. And the Dragonlord-and-powerful-warlock bit was sort of secret, and one that I worked very hard to keep that way. Even before I came to Camelot, I could never bear the thought of lying about it to someone I was supposed to be intimate with. Relationships are built on trust, and I couldn’t afford to offer anyone mine.”

“Did you never want to?”

“Sometimes,” Merlin admitted, turning to lean his shoulder against Llamrei’s flank, soaking up her solid warmth. “But they wouldn’t have understood me, you know? No one in Camelot could truly understand, even if I did confide in them about the magic. It wasn’t until—”

Merlin stopped, a pain long-buried rearing its head making his heart clench in his chest. He swallowed hard against the feeling.

“Until what?” Mordred asked, his voice hushed and rapt.

“Until whom, you should say,” Merlin said with a small smile that pulled at his cheeks rather reluctantly. “There was one girl. A Druid girl who’d been captured by a bounty hunter, brought before Uther to be sold and executed. Even chained up in a cage, dressed in rags and covered in dirt, she was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I rescued her, hid her away in the tunnels beneath the outer walls, and swore that I would keep her safe no matter what.

“I was nineteen years old, twenty maybe,” he told Mordred. “At that age when you’re just so certain that no one else has ever felt the way you do. But then Freya said that she was a monster, and I looked at her and I thought ‘ _yes, I’ve felt that way too._ ’ And suddenly there was someone who knew me better than anyone, someone who really understood. I could be myself around her more than anyone else. I didn’t have to hide anything. She knew all of my deepest secrets and she still looked at me like I was a hero, like my magic was something special and beautiful.”

Merlin shook his head. “She was so afraid though,” he mused, more to himself than to Mordred. “Of herself more than anything. When she said she was a monster, I thought she meant that her magic made her a monster, like I sometimes thought mine made me. It never occurred to me that she might mean it more literally than I did.”

“Literally?”

Merlin looked up, startled; he’d almost forgotten that Mordred was there with him. Mordred’s eyes were wide and wet, unbearably sympathetic, as if he already knew how this story was going to end. And of course, he did, considering Freya wasn’t still at Merlin’s side. Merlin faltered, unsure if he could bring himself to actually say the words aloud. It had been so long since he had thought of Freya and all the pain that came with her memory, and he had never shared the full story with anyone before, not even with Gaius.

But he couldn’t stop now that he’d started. He couldn’t let the ache in his chest and the hollow in his stomach settle there or he would never be free of the grief he had never truly allowed himself to feel. Even just acknowledging it now was like leeching poison from a snakebite.

“She was cursed,” Merlin said. He looked away from Mordred’s gaze, still stinging at the unfairness of it all, at the darkness such an innocent soul had been forced to carry. “A bastet.”

Mordred’s gasp of horror told Merlin he needn’t explain any further.

“There were six people dead already, but I didn’t make the connection until later. She tried to flee the city on her own, but without my help she didn’t even make it to the gate before she got cornered by Arthur and his men.”

“Oh Merlin,” Mordred sighed, the pity in his tone almost overwhelming.

“And, you know, I can’t even blame Arthur for it,” Merlin said with a laugh that came out much bleaker than he’d intended. “Especially not now, when I know exactly how far I would go to protect my own people. Freya was dangerous. Even if she didn’t want to hurt anyone, it didn’t matter because she wasn’t in control of herself. I can’t blame him for eliminating a threat like that.”

“I don’t think I could ever be as forgiving as you are, Merlin,” Mordred said, shaking his head sadly. “If it were Cecily…”

“It’s alright,” Merlin said, moving on to Raime’s horse to check it was saddled properly. “Like I said: it’s not like I had time for romance anyway. And I only knew her for a few days.”

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t love her.”

Merlin’s busy hands slowed and stopped. He sighed.

“No, it doesn’t. I loved her from the first time I saw her. And I haven’t looked at another woman since the day I lost her.”

Mordred was quiet for a long time. Merlin finished checking over Raime’s horse and moved on to Cecily’s. When he was finished with that, he cast around for something else to do and found Arthur’s gelding in his stall. Hengroen whickered when he approached, straining his neck to reach him. Merlin patted his nose fondly. Hengroen’s coat was smooth and sleek under his hand, the thick muscle of the horse’s neck bunching and releasing as he moved.

It wasn’t so different from the bastet’s fur, warm and soft in that moment before Freya had returned to her human form, wounded and dying.

“Do you love Cecily?” Merlin asked, his quiet voice loud in the tranquil atmosphere of the stables.

“I don’t know,” Mordred said, incredibly vulnerable in his honesty. “I’m not sure I know what love is. But I do know that her laugh is my favorite sound in the world. And that when she smiles I can’t help but smile back at her. I know that I’ve never felt this way before, and that I never want it to stop.”

“Does she make you happy?”

Mordred didn’t need to think about it. He simply smiled and said, “More than anything.”

Merlin smiled back. “Then tell her. Don’t wait. You never know how long you’ll have with her.”

“Have what with who now?”

The loud voice made the both of them jump as Raime came around the corner into the stalls, looking curious. Mordred stuttered, trying to think of a sound cover-up. Merlin just said, “None of your business, you nosy thing. What have I told you about eavesdropping?”

“You’ve never told me anything about eavesdropping!” Raime said indignantly. “And what about all the eavesdropping you did as a servant? It saved Camelot plenty of times!”

Merlin ruffled Raime’s hair vigorously, making the boy squawk in protest and bat at his hands. “You’re not going to save Camelot or Carthis by eavesdropping on me. Keep your ears to yourself, little one.”

“Not little…” Raime muttered darkly, trying to stand taller without making it obvious.

“If you’re still shorter than me, then you are still undeniably little,” Cecily said as she breezed past. Raime scrunched up his nose and stuck out his tongue at her back.

“Mordred,” Merlin said, ignoring Raime proving how young he really was. “Arthur’s on the training grounds. He said you could meet him there.”

“Alright,” he said.

Mordred’s hand fluttered toward Cecily’s as if he was going to take it, but it fell back to his side. The two of them smiled at each other instead, small and private. Then Cecily darted forward to press a kiss to Mordred’s cheek before hastily turning back to her saddlebags. Mordred stood for a moment, stunned, until Merlin nudged him in the back. He left with a blush firmly on his cheeks and Merlin smiling after him fondly.

 

* * *

 

_She plucked a daisy from the ground and added it to her ever-growing pile, already a hand’s width high by her knee. Another flower came soaring over her shoulder, missing the pile by several inches, and she turned to give Mordred a disapproving look. He smiled at her—that big, unrestrained smile that always made her feel warm inside—and held out another flower, blue this time and definitely not a daisy._

_“You can’t have one of those in a daisy chain, silly,” she said. “It wouldn’t be a daisy chain anymore.” She took it from him anyway._

_“I know,” he said, sitting down close beside her, careful not to knock over the flower pile. “But it’s pretty anyway. You can wear that one in your hair until you’re done with the daisy chain, can’t you?”_

_“I suppose I could,” she said, trying not to smile. She sniffed at the flower, the petals soft against her nose. It was her favorite smell, but then Mordred knew that. He knew lots of little things about her, all the perfect ways to cheer her up if she needed it. Not that she needed it now; it was hard to be anything but happy when Mordred was leaning his shoulder against hers._

_“Here,” he said. He tugged the bloom from her hand and threaded the short stem into the hair behind her ear instead, fussing about until he was certain it would stay there. Then he sat back and beamed at her. “Lovely!”_

_She ducked her head to hide the growing pinkness in her cheeks._

_“You can help, if you want,” she said quickly, pushing half the pile of daisies toward him. “I bet you could even spell them to weave themselves together if you wanted to!”_

_“I don’t know any spells for daisy-chain-making. And besides, where would be the fun in that?” Mordred asked, beginning to knot the stems together the way she showed him. “Flower crowns always turn out better when you make them by hand.”_

_“But what’s the point of having magic if you don’t use it?” she said._

_“You can’t use magic for everything, you know.”_

_“Well, you could,” she insisted. “Only, the elders won’t let you.”_

_“There are rules to how we use magic,” Mordred said, putting down his flowers to look at her intently. She didn’t meet his gaze, focusing on knotting her flowers together, the stems fraying under her fingers as she twisted them just a bit too tightly. “It’s a sacred gift and there is a right way to use it and a wrong way.”_

_“And who’s to say what’s right and what’s wrong?” she burst out. “Why shouldn’t we get to decide that for ourselves?”_

_“The elders are—”_

_“The elders are ancient and going batty, that’s what they are!”_

_Mordred sighed. He reached out to take her hands, carefully prizing them open to rescue the poor strangled flowers from her hold. “You know I don’t like fighting with you,” he said softly, fingering a ripped petal._

_“I’m sorry,” she said, her indignation doused by the sad, almost disappointed look on Mordred’s face. “I don’t want to fight either. I shouldn’t have shouted.”_

_Mordred tossed aside the ruined chain and picked up a new daisy. “Here,” he said, a grin creeping onto his face once more. “We can start another.”_

_“It’ll be even longer than the last!” she said, relief flooding through her that Mordred wasn’t angry with her._

_He scooted closer and put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her tightly. She turned into the embrace so that she could wrap her arms around his waist._

_“The longest we’ve ever made,” he promised. “It’ll go on forever and ever.”_

_“Just like we will,” she whispered. She pulled back to look at him but she didn’t let go where she’d fisted her hands into his shirt. “Right? You and me. We’ll be together forever, won’t we?”_

_“Don’t be silly,” Mordred said, beaming. “Of course we will, Kara.”_


	3. Chapter 3

The world resolved around Mordred in a squall and a swirl of color and he took a steadying breath, trying to shake off the disorienting feeling of suffocation that always came with transportation spells. He dropped his crystal so it swung from the cord around his neck, the thrum of magic warm against his chest even through his chainmail. He took a moment to shift his grip on the sheaf of parchment tucked under his arm, which was trying its best to slip out of his hold and spill all over the muddy ground just to spite him, and headed off in the direction of the city gates.

The wind, cool with the oncoming winter, tugged at his cloak and tangled it around his legs. It had the added effect of making the papers that much harder to hold onto. Mordred cursed under his breath and considered using a spell to make them stick to his hands, but he had never been very good at improvising spells and he didn’t want to ruin them somehow if he messed it up.

As annoying as it was to be used as a message-boy, Merlin hadn’t been entirely wrong when he said that it was an important task. The other kings and queens were uneasy, suspicious, at each other’s throats and ready to bite. The only person who had even a hope of uniting them all and making them work together toward the same goal was Arthur; he had an uncanny knack for rallying people to his cause, whatever that cause may be, with only a few well-spoken words and a shining example to follow. There was no more charismatic leader in all the realms.

But he could hardly allay the other monarchs’ fears and earn their trust if he answered every other question with “I don’t know, I’ll have to ask Merlin.” That would only serve to convince the more skeptical among the ruling class that Merlin had enchanted him, that Arthur was a puppet king serving the whims of a power-hungry sorcerer. Mordred shivered, imagining the wars that would spawn from such convictions.

He looked down at the parchments, lists and lists of questions and concerns about magic and its governance to be answered and addressed before the summit meeting started the day after tomorrow. Some of them went into a surprising amount of detail about the technicalities of spells and their classifications, while others dealt more with the ethics behind the usage of magic. There were several pages, all in Arthur’s tight, neat script.

Mordred smiled. Arthur had come so far from where he’d started, convinced of magic’s wickedness and too stubborn to be swayed from his opinion. When they had first met, Arthur had almost let Mordred be executed for his Druidic heritage alone, too uncertain of his convictions and too loyal to disobey his father’s direct orders. True, he had done it in the end, but only after a lot of begging and threatening on Morgana’s part. And now here he was, proclaiming his support of magic and its practitioners before all and sundry, and reaching out in good faith to those who disagreed. It was a hell of a transformation.

And he wasn’t the only one who had changed for the better. Merlin had nearly let him die back then too. Mordred understood why now, the knowledge of the prophecy dictating his fate weighing like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t blame Merlin for doing what he had done back then, not anymore. He had spent years being angry about that, hating Emrys for turning his back on one of his own people, but he had long since moved past that darkness. Now he could only be grateful that Merlin’s soft heart hadn’t allowed him to go through with it.

For all his youth and naïveté back then, Merlin had grown to be a wise and confident ruler, someone who the magical world could truly look to for guidance and protection. And he trusted Mordred now. Merlin had chosen to put his faith in him, standing by his judgment of Mordred’s character even at the risk of Arthur’s life. Arthur, whose head had finally caught up with his heart, who seemed determined to learn as much about magic and its practitioners as he possibly could so that he could rule them as fairly and as justly as any of his other subjects.

They were great men, both of them. And Mordred would forever thank whichever gods had led him to cross paths with them.

The city gates were just about to close when he reached them, evening quickly creeping in around them to dim the skies and chill the air. Sir Helsen nodded genially as he approached and waved him through. The streets of the Lower Town were mostly empty as Mordred passed through them, the townspeople all finished with their day’s tasks and enjoying their supper in the fire’s warmth by now. He hurried through the courtyard and up the steps, craving his own fireplace and the chance to take off his damp, muddy boots. He just had to deliver Arthur’s papers to Ellison first.

Sir Gerund was just coming around the corner when Mordred reached the throne room.

“Mordred!” he called out, meeting him at the doors. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on your way to Ealdor. Don’t tell me Merlin turned tail and ran! If he’s here, I swear to all the gods I’ll—”

“No!” Mordred said with a laugh. “No, Arthur was just as adamant on the subject as you were; Merlin wouldn’t dare leave Hunith high and dry again. He is on his way to Ealdor with Cecily and Raime. I just got roped into playing the middleman again.” He held up the stack of parchment. “Questions for you and Ellison to provide answers to, since Merlin’s busy.”

Gerund took the parchments from him, eyebrows raised. He flipped through them, skimming the contents, and made a sound of consideration.

“That Arthur’s a smart lad,” he conceded. “Certainly knows which questions to ask. And he doesn’t leave anything to chance, does he? He might actually hold his own in this harebrained summit of his.”

Gerund signaled to the guards stationed on either side of the doors and they pulled them open. Ellison was stood at one of the stained glass windows overlooking the courtyard, watching the few stragglers that were still out and about at this hour. There was a golden circlet upon his brow—very plain compared to the jeweled one Merlin often wore—to mark his status as the regent. He looked up when they entered and immediately frowned at Mordred.

“Don’t worry,” Mordred said, forestalling the inevitable response to his presence. “Merlin didn’t come back with me. He’s following your directions for the moment, and what a miracle that is. I’m here on Arthur’s behalf instead.”

Ellison relaxed and quirked a smile at him. “Isn’t there a fable or two that warn against serving two masters?” he asked lightly, taking the parchments that Gerund offered up to him.

“I don’t think it applies when those masters are joined at the hip,” Gerund pointed out. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“I think Guinevere would protest if it were literal,” Mordred said with as straight a face as he could manage. It didn’t last long once Ellison snorted in a most undignified attempt not to laugh at such a childish joke. Gerund didn’t even bother to pretend that he wasn’t amused, snickering freely.

Mordred was still trying to suppress his own giggles when the throne room doors swung open again and Sir Galahad came striding into the room. The flapping of his blue cape almost obscured the slight figure that followed behind him, keeping close in his wake. Sobering, Ellison stepped forward to meet them.

“What’s this, Sir Galahad?” he asked.

“My lord,” Galahad said, bowing. “We have another refugee. A Druid. I came across her in the woods by the southern border.”

It was hardly the first time a magic user had ended up in Carthis after fleeing persecution in another kingdom. Even with Camelot’s stance on sorcery changing, they still received several people a month seeking asylum. They had always been welcome within Carthis’ borders, but Merlin had gone a step further in setting up a fund to help get them on their feet. He insisted that, once they were firmly established, they would be happy to pay back the loan. Four months into his kingship and they had already started getting returns on their first investments.

Ellison gave a grim nod and beckoned for the refugee to step forward. It was a girl, grown but still young. She looked very small, swamped as she was by a threadbare brown cloak and with her hooded head lowered in either deference or fear. She gave a shaky curtesy.

“You don’t need to worry, miss,” Ellison said with a smile that she didn’t look up to see. “You are perfectly safe now.”

“Do you mean I can stay?” the girl asked, sounding painfully hopeful.

“Of course,” he said. “Our king is of the mind that all those who seek refuge shall be granted it. You are welcome here, no matter the homestead you fled.”

“May I ask where that might be?” Gerund asked, not unkindly.

“Amata, sir.”

Mordred sucked in a sharp breath; there were few places more dangerous for those with magic. In Camelot, execution had long been the standing order for those caught practicing enchantments, but rumor had it that Amatan sorcerers were often subject to far worse punishments. What exactly those punishments might be were left up to the imagination, but considering their king’s reputation for ruthlessness and cruelty, it was far from pleasant conjecture.

“I didn’t think there were any Druids living within Amatan territory,” Ellison said. “Not for decades, at least.”

“It wasn’t really my home, sir,” she told him. “But I lived there for many years after my camp was destroyed and I was forced to flee.”

Mordred’s heart panged with sympathy, remembering a time when he had faced the same tragedy. He had been one of the lucky ones to escape that day when so many had not. He had lost many a friend that day, as this girl must have too. He recognized the pain in her voice and he shared it.

“A sad tale,” Gerund said. “And an all too common one, I’m sorry to say.”

“I am sorry for all you have suffered,” Ellison said, coming forward to put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “But you need not suffer any longer. You are more than welcome to make a new home here. What is your name?”

“Kara.”

This time Mordred’s gasp was loud enough to draw attention to him, but he paid no heed to Ellison and Gerund’s inquisitive looks. He only had eyes for her.

“Kara?” His question seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

She looked up for the first time since entering the room and the hood around her head fell down to reveal a face that was at once new and completely familiar. Twelve years had changed Kara from the little girl she had been when last Mordred had seen her, had thinned her cheeks and hardened her features until she appeared sharp and almost gaunt. She stared at him for long moment, mouth gaping open in shock and disbelief.

“Mordred?” she breathed, as if hardly daring to believe what she saw before her eyes.

Mordred didn’t hesitate to swoop down on Kara and wrap her in a hug so fierce that it nearly lifted her from the ground. She let out the same sort of squeak she always had when he had done that and he couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“Kara! Oh, Kara, I thought you were dead,” he said, his voice muffled from where it was buried in her hair.

Kara’s arms wound around his neck, holding on just as tightly. “And I you,” she said. “I thought I was the only one to survive that day! I was sure the knights had gotten you!”

Mordred pulled back and took her face in his hands, drinking in the sight of the best friend he had lost so long ago: the heart-shaped face; the turned up nose; the small, full lips. All exactly as he remembered. There was something about the eyes, some sort of darkness in them, that made the rich brown into something almost cold, but Mordred knew only too well what years of grief and isolation could do to a person’s soul. And when Kara smiled at him, the whole of her turned into something warm and inviting. He placed a kiss on her forehead.

“You two know each other?” Ellison’s voice drew them apart, surprise evident in his tone.

“Well, I thought that was rather obvious by the tearful reunion,” Gerund said. Ellison shot him a dirty look, which he ignored. “You hail from the same camp?”

“Yes,” Mordred said. “It was taken in one of Uther’s raids twelve years ago. What remained of us were scattered. I was never sure how many of us made it out alive.”

“Apparently more than you thought,” Ellison said. “It’s a miracle you’ve found each other again.”

“A gift from the gods,” Kara said, taking Mordred’s hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. Mordred squeezed back, half afraid that if he let go for even a moment she would disappear into thin air and he would lose her all over again.

“We said we would be together forever, didn’t we?” she said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. “Like that daisy chain, remember? We said we’d go on and on.”

Mordred laughed, thinking back on that day in a sunny meadow, back before all the darkness that had overtaken them all. They were so innocent and carefree then, with no concerns but each other.

“And we still will!” he said. “You will stay here, in the castle. At least until we can get you set up properly in the lower town. You will dine with me tonight, won’t you?”

“Of course I will, Mordred,” she said, beaming. “Tonight and every night after, if you wish.”

Mordred tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, remembering how she used to blush every time he did that. This time she just brought his hand up so that she could rest her cheek upon his knuckles.

“I’m so lucky to have found you again, Mordred,” she said. “More lucky than you know.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Kara hauled herself up the trunk of the tallest tree she could find, reaching for branch after branch and trusting that they would be strong enough to hold her weight. Mordred followed behind her much more cautiously, testing each handhold and each step before he took it and sending nervous looks back toward the ground. It was very far off by now, but Kara never took her eyes off the glimpse of sky through the canopy of leaves above them, determined to reach it._

_“Hurry up, Mordred, or I’ll leave you behind!” she called down to him._

_“You’ll never actually reach the top, you know,” he told her. “The branches are too thin up there. You’ll fall!”_

_“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. And besides, even if I do fall, I know you’ll catch me,” she said simply._

_She heard Mordred huff out an exasperated sigh, but he didn’t contradict her and she smiled, stretching out to grasp another branch. She was so close to the top, miles and miles above the ground, it seemed like. If she stopped to look around, she could see for ages through the trees, even with the leaves fanning out all around them and slapping at their faces as they passed. Everything smelled of pine sap and sunshine and freedom and Kara never wanted to climb back down._

_A loud clanking of metal broke through the tranquility of the forest and sent the birds fleeing from their roosts. Kara turned toward the sound so quickly that she almost lost her grip. Mordred called out her name but Kara shushed him._

_“What was that?” she whispered down to him, wedging her arm into the fork of a branch so that she could turn around more fully, eyes scanning the forest floor beneath them._

_“We should get down,” Mordred said._

_Kara frowned and closed her eyes, straining her ears for another noise. It came in the clopping of horse hooves, growing louder by the second. Horses, lots of them, and metal clanging about. That could only be one thing. Kara’s blood ran cold._

_“Knights,” she said._

_“What?”_

_“Knights, Mordred, knights!” she cried, only just keeping her growing panic under control. “There are knights of Camelot in the woods.”_

_“Coming this way?” Mordred asked, just as alarmed._

_“Not this way,” Kara said. “That way.” She pointed back the way they had come when they had wandered off early in the morning to avoid their chores, back toward home._

_“They’re going to raid the camp,” Mordred realized, horrified. “We have to warn them!”_

_He started shimmying his way down the tree with an uncharacteristic carelessness that was borne of haste. Kara followed him down, leaping from branch to branch in a reckless way that Mordred would have scolded her for at any other time. They both reached the ground safely and set off toward the camp at a dead run._

_“We’ll never make it there in time,” Kara panted, her legs burning from the strain of pushing too hard. “The knights have horses. There’s no way we can outrun them.”_

_“We have to!”_

_“No, Mordred, we have to find another way to warn them.” She grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to an abrupt stop. “Mindspeak,” she said. “You have to reach out and tell someone that way.”_

_Mordred shook his head. “I don’t think I can,” he admitted. “We’re too far away. I don’t think I could reach anyone from here.”_

_“Sure you can, Mordred,” Kara said encouragingly. “You’re a natural at mindspeak, all the elders say so. You just have to try!”_

_“Okay, okay,” Mordred muttered. He screwed his eyes closed, obviously thinking very hard. After a long moment spent with Kara shifting anxiously on her feet, Mordred made a noise that might have been frustration or maybe pain and pressed his hands to his temples._

_“Mordred?_

_“Almost,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Almost.” He was swaying now and Kara reached out to steady him, biting her lip, but she didn’t try to stop him. Finally he opened his eyes with a gasp._

_“Did you do it?” Kara demanded. “Did you reach someone?”_

_“Yes!” he said. “Yes, I managed to get through to Lana while she was out at the stream fetching water. She’s running back to tell the others now.”_

_Kara threw her arms around Mordred and hugged him tightly. “You’re amazing, Mordred! I knew you could do it! Now come on, let’s get back. We can still help if we get there quickly.”_

_She grabbed his hand and started running again, towing him along in her wake when his fatigue made him falter. They heard the screams before anything else. The sounds echoed through the trees around them, bouncing from trunk to trunk and seeming to come from everywhere at once, quiet at first and then terrifyingly loud._

_The perimeter of the camp was deserted when they reached it, the campfire doused and the watchman assigned to be there at all times nowhere to be seen. Kara dragged Mordred past it and kept running, following the ringing sound of swords as they cut through the air. The tents, ramshackle on the best of days but always sturdy, had been slashed into ribbons, the fabric drapes hanging limply on their frames where once they had been stretched tight. A few of them were on fire, the flames leaping up toward a sky far too sunny and pleasant to preside over such a horrifying sight._

_They reached the center of the camp, the part that had not gotten the message in time to flee. There were plenty of people here: people screaming; people scrambling to salvage what little they could before they made a run for it; people facing down knights in gleaming armor, hands held up as they begged for mercy; people dead on the ground in pools of blood darker and redder than Kara had ever seen before. She watched it all, transfixed._

_Mordred suddenly yanked on her hand, dragging her behind one of the more intact and less charred tents and crouching down so they couldn’t be seen._

_“We’re too late,” he said, his voice barely audible above all the clamor around them. He coughed and Kara’s throat itched in sympathy, the smoke floating above them threatening to clog it up entirely. “We’re too late. There’s nothing we can do.”_

_Kara looked at him incredulously. “Nothing we can do?” she repeated. “Of course there’s something we can do! We can fight!”_

_Mordred looked nothing short of shocked at the concept._

_“We...we don’t fight,” he stammered. “We can’t.”_

_“You could!” she said. “You could stop them, Mordred. You could defeat them all and save the whole camp if you wanted to. I know you’re strong enough.”_

_Mordred shook his head hard enough to make his hair flop into his eyes. “I couldn’t. I could never—”_

_“Not even to protect yourself? To protect all of us?”_

_She gestured around to the flames and the blood. Mordred grabbed her hand and pulled it back down, looking around warily to make sure none of the attacking knights had seen._

_“You could stop all of this, Mordred,” Kara told him. “All the violence, you could end it right now if you would just stand up and make them stop.”_

_“_ Do no harm _, Kara, that is what the elders have always told us. We cannot use our magic that way.”_

_“You mean to save lives?” she said heatedly. “To defend our home and keep it safe from the people that are trying to kill us all?”_

_“But if they hurt us and I hurt them back, then how am I any better than they are?” he snapped. “Fighting won’t make anything better. It’ll just end up with more people in pain! It’s better if we just get out while we can and find the others who have escaped.”_

_“So you just want to do nothing?” Kara asked, sitting back on her haunches. She felt like she had been punched in the stomach. The scent of blood had always made her queasy and now the stench of it was a thick fug in the air, but nothing had ever made her so sick to her stomach as this. “They are killing our friends and families, burning our homes to the ground, and you want to walk away like that doesn’t even matter?”_

_“I never said it doesn’t matter!” Mordred shouted, too offended to remember to be quiet. “Of course it matters, Kara! I just think that—”_

_A shout came from somewhere behind them and they turned to see a knight in a red cloak striding toward them from across the camp, his sword raised and leveled at them. At the same time another voice reached them, calling out their names. Mordred’s father appeared around the other side of the tent they had hidden behind, grabbing his son’s arm._

_“Thank god you’re both alright,” he said. “Come on, kids, we need to get out of here. Now!”_

_Mordred let his father start tugging him away, but he turned back when he realized that Kara wasn’t following them. “Kara, come on!”_

_“No,” she said, rage thrumming through her veins and making her hands tremble. There was a tickling warmth at her fingertips, a burn that had her clenching her fists. “No. Maybe you won’t fight, but I will.”_

_Kara turned back toward the knight who was still bearing down on her. She heard Mordred scream her name, begging her to go with them, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. There was no way that she could ever turn her back on this and run away. She held up her hands, looking for the words that would make her magic do what she needed it to and praying to all the gods and goddesses she could think of that she was strong enough._

_“Astrice!” she shouted, putting all the force that she could muster behind the spell. The rush of using so much magic at once, more than she had ever used before, was enough to make her dizzy and lightheaded. The knight stumbled back a few steps, tripping over the hem of his cloak and almost falling. He managed to stay on his feet, though, and he laughed._

_“I don’t think so, witch,” he said._

_Kara reached for her magic again, trying to think of a different spell, a better one. But she didn’t know how to fight. The elders didn’t teach them spells like that. She tried the knockback spell again, but it was weak, barely enough for him to feel it and laugh again. Her magic sparked inside her, then it dimmed and she struggled to draw it forth at all, to make it come to her aid. She almost cried with frustration._

_She didn’t get the chance to try a third attack. The knight towered over her, blocking out the sun until he was nothing more than a sinister silhouette against a sky that was now red with smoke and firelight. He raised his sword high. The last thing Kara saw was the glint of the sword’s blade before the pommel landed heavily on her scalp and everything went black._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (And here it is, the chapter everyone has been waiting for. Lol, enjoy!)

The little traveling party reached Ealdor just before supper of the next day. Merlin reined in his horse at the forest’s edge, looking out over the familiar sight. Raime and Cecily came up on either side of him, eager and curious.

“So this is where you grew up?” Raime asked, sounding a bit skeptical.

“Yep,” Merlin said. “Born and raised right here in this tiny farming village caught between two kingdoms that don’t care about it in the least.”

“I would never have guessed that you came from such humble origins, sire,” Cecily said.

“Wait until you see the house I grew up in,” Merlin said. “One room. I never even had a bed to sleep on as a kid.”

“Wow,” Raime said.  “You weren’t exaggerating with that story you told the court when you pardoned Derrick, were you?”

“Not in the least,” Merlin said.

He smiled, thinking of the young boy who had been dragged before him for theft and had received a job rather than a punishment, much to his councilors’ surprise. Stealing food for one’s family was a cry for help, not a malicious act, Merlin had argued. Derrick showed great promise in the stables and was hoping that the Stable Master would take him on as an apprentice if he worked especially hard.

“Well, humble beginnings or not, you have taken to your role like you were raised to it,” Cecily said graciously.

“Thank you, Cecily,” Merlin chuckled. “But I’ll always be a simple country boy at heart, no matter how many titles you give me.”

Raime spurred his horse forward, glancing back over his shoulder at them. “Come on, Merlin,” he said. “We rode all the way here instead of transporting just so you could stall some more, but there’s no more putting it off now. Let’s go find your mum and get this over with.”

Merlin groaned but followed down the hill toward the town. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his mother again—it had been a very long time since he had had the chance and he was more eager to see her than he had ever been before—but there was a crown in his saddlebag and a signet ring on his finger and stories to tell that would probably make her cry. He had always hated making his mother cry.

Merlin pushed ahead of Raime to reach the road first and dismounted, the others doing the same when they caught up. They led their horses through the village, drawing a bit of a crowd considering the townspeople probably hadn’t seen three visitors all on horseback in years. Murmurs and whispers sprung up in their wake as the townsfolk recognized Merlin but not the fine-spun clothes he wore nor the blue-cloaked Lady-Mage at his shoulder, so different from the knights in red that he usually had trailing along after him on the rare occasions that he came home for a visit.

It didn’t take long for word of his arrival to spread and Hunith was already waiting for him at the door when they got there. Merlin handed Llamrei’s reins off to Raime and happily let his mother wrap him up in one of her best and most encompassing hugs. He held onto her tightly, marveling as he always did when he came home at how small she seemed to be now that he was grown; as a child he had always thought her larger than life, big enough to shield him from the whole world and then some.

Now her head tucked neatly under his chin and his arms wrapped all the way around her thin shoulders. Her hair, where wisps of it had escaped her headscarf, was grey and there were wrinkles on her face that hadn’t been there when last he had seen her. But when she pulled back to smile at him, her eyes were as sharp and as kind as they had ever been. He smiled back, warmed through.

“Merlin,” she said, patting his cheek. “Look at you! The beard is new.”

Merlin laughed. “There’s a long story behind it, actually.”

“The same one behind the nice clothes and the young lady in chainmail, I presume,” Hunith said with a raised eyebrow.

“The young lady in chainmail is Cecily,” Merlin said, and Cecily offered up the half-bow-half-curtsey motion that was customary of the Lady-Mages. Hunith smiled at her politely, though it was obvious that she was confused. “And this is Raime.” Merlin gestured to his manservant, who gave his biggest and most disarming smile, but he offered no further explanation for the two of them. That would come later.

Hunith took his hand. “You didn’t write to tell me that you were coming,” she said, “and I don’t see Arthur anywhere in tow. What’s brought you here, my love?”

Merlin sighed. “More long stories, I’m afraid,” he said. “A lot of them. And not all of them easy to hear.”

Hunith’s sunny expression faltered. Merlin squeezed her hand.

“Let’s go inside. We have much to talk about,” he said. He sent Raime and Cecily off to stable the horses in the only sorry excuse for a stable Ealdor had and then led his mother inside and closed the door behind them.

“What’s going on, Merlin?” Hunith asked, concern coloring her tone.

“Mum, do you still have the ring?” Merlin asked.

She frowned. “What ring?”

“The ring my father gave you,” he said. “You used to wear it around your neck when I was little.”

Hunith frowned more and said, “I didn’t think you would remember that.”

But she dug a small wooden box from underneath her pallet. It contained a number of small objects, trinkets, some of which Merlin recognized and others that he didn’t. There was a sparkly rock that he distinctly remembered giving to her with a proud flourish when he was maybe four years old and a brightly colored feather that he had carried around with him for days when he was seven.

She rooted around in the box until she drew out the ring, still strung on its leather cord just as Merlin remembered it. She proffered it up and gave him a questioning look. Merlin took a deep breath and pulled the signet ring off his own thumb, holding it up alongside the first. Hunith took it from him and examined the two side by, her forehead pinched in concentration and confusion.

“Where did you get this?” she breathed.

“The same place that Balinor got his, I imagine,” Merlin said. “The royal forge of Carthis.”

His mother looked up at him, wide-eyed and uncomprehending.

“These are signet rings, mother. Noblemen wear them as a symbol of their status. They use them to press their seal into wax on official documents and correspondences,” Merlin explained. He took his ring back and slipped it onto his thumb where it sat comfortably. He forced himself to meet his mother’s eyes directly.

“This seal is a special one, though,” he said. “It signifies the House of Ambrosius. Balinor’s House, and now mine.”

“Balinor was of the nobility?”

“All Dragonlords are, apparently, which was news to me too when I found out,” Merlin said, trying for flippant but too nervous to pull it off convincingly. “But, um...this one is more than that.”

Hunith waited. Merlin swallowed hard and took his mother’s hand in both of his own, curling her fingers around Balinor’s old ring.

“These rings bear the royal seal of Carthis,” he finally said. “Balinor wasn’t just nobility—he was royalty. And so am I.”

There was a very long silence as Hunith tried to parse his words into something that made sense. Merlin understood that feeling very well. When Gerund had lured him out of Camelot to tell him of the throne that awaited him, he had nearly laughed until he cried. That had seemed the appropriate reaction to what was clearly a joke, and yet here he was four months into his kingship. The surreal feeling of it all had passed, for the most part, though there were still mornings when he woke up expecting to be in his rickety little cot in Gaius’ spare room instead of on a feathered mattress in the castle he had inherited.

“Royalty?” Hunith whispered. She shook her head, disbelieving. “But how? I don’t— He certainly wasn’t royalty when I knew him.”

Merlin led her to sit down at the small table and sank to his knees in front of her, never letting go of her hand. Then he explained how Thalia and Tibalt had shown up in Camelot claiming a dragon attack, how it was all just a ruse to find him, and everything Gerund had told him about Balinor’s history and the queens his sisters had been. He told her how the empty throne had fallen to him and he had taken it.

Hunith had just opened her mouth to ask for confirmation of what exactly that meant when the door to the hut creaked open very slowly. Merlin turned back to see Raime peeking his head through the gap, grimacing and looking very apologetic.

“Sorry, sire,” he said, almost whispering, as if speaking quietly would somehow make it less of an interruption. “We, um...we’re finished with the horses. Old Man Lewis kicked us out of the stables.”

Hunith stood up abruptly, sniffing and smoothing down the wrinkles in her skirts. She smiled brightly and pulled the door open all the way.

“Come in, come in, of course,” she said, ushering Raime and Cecily into the little house. “There isn’t much by way of seating, I’m afraid, but you’re welcome to make a seat of whatever you’d like.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Cecily said as she took the only other seat at the table. Hunith blushed at the deferential form of address, the same way Merlin had done for weeks before he had gotten used to it.

“So,” Hunith said, still sounding a little flustered. She cleared her throat. “The throne, you say? When’s the coronation?”

Merlin grimaced as an intense awkwardness engulfed the room. Cecily tactfully fixed her attention on the tabletop while Raime looked back and forth between Merlin and his mother without so much as blinking, not wanting to miss the drama.

“Right, um, yes, the coronation.” Merlin got to his feet and brushed off the knees of his trousers. “Well, you see—the thing is—that, er—that sort of happened already.”

Hunith blinked at him. “Oh. I’m...sorry to have missed it then.”

Merlin wondered frantically if he could get away with just leaving it at that, but then Cecily shot him a very dirty look that warned him against being a horrible coward and he quickly stammered out, “It was sort of a while ago, actually.”

Hunith’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she caught on to his shifty behavior; she had always been able to tell when he felt guilty about something, and she had always managed to get the reason out of him one way or another. That suspicious look of hers still made him squirm.

“And how long ago was it, exactly?” she asked, her tone dangerously polite.

Merlin scratched at the back of his neck, trying his hardest to look innocent even though he knew that was a losing battle for so many reasons. “A few, er, months,” he said. “Four, if you want to be specific. I mean, give or take a week or so.”

He most likely would have kept babbling on for a while if Hunith hadn’t brought a hand up sharply to stop him. She had her eyes closed. Merlin waited, breath held. Then Hunith very deliberately pointed to the only corner of the room that didn’t have anything in it. Merlin’s mouth fell open, equal parts horrified and indignant.

“What?!” he squawked. “No! No, mother, I am a grown man and there is no way that I am—”

“Merlin!” Hunith said sharply, an undeniable warning in her tone. She pointed more forcefully.

“Oh, come on,” Merlin said, almost whining. “You can’t possibly expect me to—”

“ _Sit._ ”

Merlin cast a look at Cecily and Raime, both watching the exchange with interest, then back to his mother. “Mum—” he started, pleadingly this time, but his puppy-dog eyes had never gotten him out of this before so why should they work this time?

Hunith made a sharp shushing noise and Merlin’s mouth snapped shut almost of its own accord. She gave him a hard, expectant stare. Merlin shifted on his feet, chewing his tongue and considering refusing outright, but in the end he just made a sound of utter defeat. He stomped to the corner, turned around, and flopped down to sit cross-legged on the floor. He was very thankful for the beard, as it helped to conceal how red his face was.

Hunith, satisfied with Merlin’s compliance, snatched up a rag and set about dusting aggressively, now ignoring him completely. Raime was looking startled and Merlin scowled at him just for good measure. Raime sidled up alongside Cecily, keeping his eyes on Merlin as if worried he might attack.

“Do you have any idea what’s just happened?” he whispered to her.

“Not entirely sure,” she admitted. Then she smirked. “But whatever it is, I have a feeling that Mordred is going to be very upset that he missed it.”

Merlin pulled a face at her too, thanking his lucky stars that Mordred was not here to see this. Or Gerund and Ellison, for that matter. Those two would never let him live it down if they found out about this whole fiasco.

“What exactly is going on?” Raime asked more loudly, glancing at Hunith.

“My son,” she said, scrubbing at the tabletop with unnecessary force, “is not allowed to speak at the moment.”

“Why is that, my lady?” Cecily asked.

“Because I am very angry with him,” Hunith said matter-of-factly. “And when people are angry, they often say things that they don’t mean. So my son is going to sit there quietly until I am calm enough to speak to him civilly.”

Raime clapped a hand over his mouth too late to stop a snort from escaping. It was followed by another and then he was nearly smothering himself trying to hold in his laughter. Merlin sourly hoped that he choked on his tongue. Cecily was fighting a very persistent smile but at least she sent Merlin a sympathetic look. Raime just gave up on tact completely and laughed out loud, his head thrown back.

Wholly irritated, Merlin used magic to pull Raime’s feet out from under him and send him crashing to the floor with a yelp. Hunith came over to smack Merlin around the head with her rag and then promptly returned to her cleaning. Raime positively roared with laughter then, rolling on the floor. Merlin nearly reached out to kick him but he figured his mum would probably smack him again so he just crossed his arms over his chest and sat back against the wall to wait for the indignity to pass.

And the worst part was that Raime was supposed to be helping him. Merlin had told him so when he had first asked to come along on this trip.

“The only reason I’m allowing this,” he had said, already certain that he would live to regret it, “is so that you can distract my mother when she gets angry.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Raime had asked.

“You probably won’t have to do much of anything, really. You’re a scrawny teenage boy, just like I used to be,” Merlin had said with a shrug. “Just do something cute and then her mothering instincts will kick in and she’ll be too busy pinching your cheeks and trying to feed you to be mad at me anymore.”

Merlin tried to get Raime’s attention now, looking as pitiful as he possibly could and hoping that his puppy-dog eyes would work better on his manservant than they did on his mother. Raime finally pushed himself upright, still chuckling and wiping at his eyes. Merlin caught his eye and nodded toward his mother, then looked pleadingly at Raime again, who was looking dishearteningly confused. Then his face lit up and he scrambled to his feet.

“Oh, er, Lady Hunith,” he said loudly. “Your headscarf is lovely.” He pointed to the green wrap she had around her hair. “My mother has one just like it, only hers is red. Well, it used to be red but it’s faded to more of a pinkish sort of color by now. But it’s still pretty, and yours is too.”

Hunith’s cross expression softened a bit, just as Merlin had hoped it would, and she smiled a bit. “Thank you, Raime. That’s very sweet of you to say.”

“I tried to wear my hair up like that once,” Cecily said, “but it didn’t look nearly as good on me as it does on you.”

Hunith smiled outright, though she sent Merlin a knowing look that said she knew his friends were only buttering her up to get him out of trouble. “Well, with hair like yours, it would be a shame to cover it up,” she said.

“I bet your hair is really nice too,” Raime volunteered with a big grin.

Hunith laughed and patted Raime on the cheek as she had done her son earlier and Merlin let out an internal cheer of victory.

“You’re sweet,” she said again. “It’s almost suppertime. Are you hungry?”

“Starving!”

 

* * *

 

 

_Kara woke to early morning sunlight on her face and the overpowering, sickly-sweet scent of rotting meat. Her head throbbed and her fingers found dried blood in her hair. She was sick when she tried to push herself upright, retching onto the scorched ground beside her where there used to be a tent. Her ears rang in the empty silence where last she remembered screams._

_She was alone, if the last living person in a field of corpses could be considered that. All around her were bodies, lying where they had fallen, horribly pale on top and turning purple underneath as the blood pooled inside them. She did not stop to examine them as she got shakily to her feet and stumbled toward the forest, not wanting to see which of her friends and family had been cut down, but she couldn’t avoid them all._

_There was Lana, the girl Mordred had gotten the message to. She must have warned the near side of the camp, run on to tell the others, and then gotten caught up in the attack. She was only sixteen. Warren was older, almost to middle age, but he had a wife and two children. Kara didn’t want to look around the campsite-cum-graveyard and see if they were among the dead too._

_She threw up again when she reached the tree line, as much from the pain in her head as from the gruesome sights and smells. So many dead. She could hardly fathom that they were gone, practically everyone she had ever known and loved._

_But not everyone. No, Mordred and his father had escaped. They had left. They had just taken off and left her behind—left all of them behind—so they could run off into the forest and save their own skins._

_Kara forced herself to her feet and lurched forward again, not knowing where she was going but needing to put distance between herself and the massacre at her back. She hoped that Mordred had made it out alive, that he had not been tracked down by the knights before they left for Camelot again. She hoped that he lived a long and harrowing life burdened with the knowledge of what he had allowed to happen to his own people. She hoped that he burned alive from the guilt and shame of his own cowardice._

_This was his fault, all of it. He could have stopped it and he chose not to. He should have fought. He should have taken a stand to defend his home. He should have killed them all where they stood. But he was too cowardly, too afraid to do what needed to be done. The whole lot of them were! All the witches and warlocks, all the esteemed elders and wise teachers and parents who were supposed to do anything to protect their families, everyone who had done nothing but beg for mercy when they could have used their power to_ fight back _—they deserved what they got._

_At least Kara had tried. She had stood her ground and tried to defend herself, even if it had done her no good in the end. If only her magic had not been so damnably weak. Why couldn’t she have had powers like Mordred’s? Why should the gods have gifted him with such an ability instead of her? He hadn’t even been willing to use it!_

_Damn the gods and all their fickle magic! It had failed her, right when she had needed it most. What good had her magic ever done her? What was the point of it if it couldn’t even protect the people she cared about? All it did was give her false hope. It was cruel, really, to have a taste of such power and not be able to utilize it._

_Her magic tingled under her skin, taunting her with its presence when it had fled the day before to leave her helpless and vulnerable. She scratched at her arms, dirty fingernails drawing blood as she tried fruitlessly to make it_ stop _, to get it_ out _. She didn’t want it anymore, didn’t want magic, didn’t want anything to do with it. It was a vile and treacherous power that always promised more than it could deliver._

_She tripped and fell, skinning her knees and the palms of her hands, but she barely noticed the sting of it. She kept going, pushing herself blindly through the trees until the sun went down and it was too dark to see the ground before her. This time when she tripped, she crawled on until she met the trunk of a tree surrounded by a cushion of dry leaves. She curled up with her back against it, shaking with cold though it was a warm summer night._

_She tried to light a fire, something, anything for warmth, but her magic sparked and fizzled out. A hatred like none she had ever known before brought tears to her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she slammed her fists against the tree trunk until her knuckles were bloody and her arms gave out from the strain._


	5. Chapter 5

The servants had just finished laying out the dinner by the time the knock came on the door to Mordred’s chambers. He rushed to open it, overwhelmed with happiness when he saw Kara standing there, alive and well and smiling shyly back at him. She had washed and been given a change of clothes, a plain blue dress that was a bit big for her slim frame but that was a far cry from the rags she had worn when she had arrived.

She had grown up very pretty, Mordred thought. Not that he was at all surprised by that; he had always thought that she was lovely when they were younger. Her hair was clean and smooth now, pulled back from her face by jeweled hairpins that one of the ladies of the court must have leant her. A white shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, the free ends held tight in her hands.

“Good evening, Mordred,” she said.

“Hi, Kara,” he replied before realizing all at once that he was blocking the doorway. He stood back to let her in, clearing his throat a bit awkwardly. “Thank you for coming.”

She turned back, smiling. “I’m glad that you asked. I’m sure that I would take any excuse to see you.”

Mordred pulled out her chair for her and she sat daintily. He took his seat across the table and gestured for her to help herself to the generous platters of food. There was a moment of almost-uncomfortable silence where neither of them knew quite what to say, each hoping for the other to speak first. Finally Mordred cleared his throat again.

“So, er, Amata,” he said. “That’s really where you’ve been all these years?”

“Yes,” she said. “The country itself is lovely but I’m afraid the people can leave a bit of a bad taste in your mouth.”

“From the stories I’ve heard, I have no doubt of that,” Mordred said grimly. “How did you come to be there? I could have sworn I saw you fall.”

She had been fighting one moment, determined to protect the camp all by herself if she had to, and then the next moment she had been on the ground. Mordred had tried to go back to her, but his father’s grip had been like a vise around his arm and he was too stunned to break free. He had let his father drag him away from the sight of his best friend in the world lying on the ground with blood in her hair. She had been so still that Mordred had just assumed that the knight’s blow had killed her. And it seemed that assumption had ruined Kara’s life.

“I did fall,” Kara said, shifting in her seat. “But I wasn’t dead. I woke up the next morning with a goose egg on my head and no one else around for miles. No one alive, anyway.” She stopped to take a drink of wine. “I just started walking.” She shook her head, that darkness in her eyes more pronounced, making them look almost haunted. “I walked for days; there was nothing else for me to do, nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

“I kept on just walking for probably a week or two when all was said and done, and then I stumbled into a cottage. Turned out an elderly couple lived there, out in the woods away from the cities. They took me in, even though I was a Druid,” she said with a smile that looked almost fond. “They would have gotten a nice bounty if they had turned me in, but they didn’t. They harbored me instead, looked after me as best they could without letting on to anyone else that I was there.”

“They sound very kind.”

“They were.” Her smile faded away. “But they died a few years later from a sweating sickness. I had to make my own way after that.”

“I’m sorry,” Mordred said, his chest all but aching with the thought of what she had suffered. “Kara, I am so sorry for everything.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” she asked, head cocked.

“I abandoned you,” he said, grief and guilt clogging his throat and making the words come out choked. “I should have gone back when I saw you fall. I should have stayed by your side to begin with. You were right, Kara. You were always right about everything. I should have fought.”

“You were young, Mordred,” she said. “You were a child. No one can expect one child to fight an army.”

“You would have,” he pointed out. “You tried to.”

“And look where it got me,” she pointed out bitterly. “Bloodied and beaten and left to die. Running and hiding for over a decade.”

“But if I had stayed to fight alongside you, maybe you wouldn’t have to do any of that. Maybe together we could have—”

Kara reached out to take his hand. “No, Mordred. Fighting is not the Druid way,” she said gently. “I should not have pushed you to violence. And besides, you weren’t trained for it. What could you really have done? What could either of us have done? Two little kids against thirty knights of Camelot!”

“I could have—”

“Mordred,” she said. “Let’s not talk of such things anymore. What happened back then was...unfortunate, for any number of reasons. But we’re together now, aren’t we?” She smiled so widely it pressed dimples into her cheeks. “After all this time, we have been brought back together. It’s like fate!”

Mordred clasped her hand in both of his own. “Then perhaps the Fates have chosen to look kindly on me for once,” he said.

“Now tell me of Carthis,” Kara said eagerly. “I haven’t heard much about it, really. Such whispers were harshly punished in Amata. It took me three years to find someone willing to even give the magical kingdom a name, much less tell me how to find it. Is it true that there’s a clutch of dragon eggs in the vaults?”

Mordred’s eyebrows rose, surprised that such a rumor had reached her ears when Amatan words were so closely watched. The eggs weren’t common knowledge even among Carthis’ own people. “Yes,” he told her. “There are a number of eggs in the vaults. They’ve been there for years. Everyone thought they would never hatch because all the Dragonlords were assumed dead, but with Merlin there is new hope for them.”

“So he intends to hatch them?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat with a strange glint in her eyes that Mordred couldn’t quite identify. “He is going to revitalize the dragon race? Will he do it soon?”

“I don’t know what Merlin intends to do with them,” Mordred said slowly. “He hasn’t said.”

“He’s got them protected though, right?” she pushed. “I mean, surely he wouldn’t leave such valuables unguarded, even down in the vaults. They would make a pretty target for his enemies, after all.”

“Of course they’re protected,” Mordred said. “One of the first things Merlin did after he was crowned was set men to stand guard all hours of the day and night. He’s put a slew of protective enchantments around them as well. Personally, I thought it might be a bit excessive, but Arthur says that he’s right to do everything that he can.”

“What sort of encha—” Kara stopped abruptly, her brow furrowing. “Wait. Did you say Arthur?”

“Oh, yes,” Mordred said, realizing his mistake. “King Arthur of Camelot. He and Merlin are good friends.”

“Arthur Pendragon?” she asked in a strangely cautious tone.  “And you’re on a first name basis with him?”

Her reticence made sense, considering the Pendragons were the reason that she had suffered so terribly, the reason that their home and their lives there had been destroyed. And in Amata, she likely would not have heard yet of Arthur’s change of heart, of all the good he was doing now in Camelot. She still thought that Arthur was his father’s son, the scourge of all magic. The name Pendragon had never exactly inspired hope in their kind before. To think that Mordred was in any way connected with that family probably made her skin crawl.

“I forget that you wouldn’t have heard the story,” Mordred said. “I’ve obviously gotten ahead of myself.”

So he started from the beginning. He told her his entire tale, from the moment he had left her behind in the ruins of their campsite through his father’s death in Camelot, through his own travels across the lands, through the brief time that he had stayed in another Druid camp and the good it had done him before the pain of his memories had overwhelmed him and he had had to move on, through his unfortunate time with the slave traders that had led him back to Arthur, Merlin, and Morgana. He told her of Merlin’s claim to the throne, of Arthur’s struggle to accept magic, of the final battle with Morgana. He even told her of his own fate, the one that he had sworn to defy.

Kara was wide-eyed and rapt the whole time that he spoke. She gasped in all the appropriate places and never once let go of the tight grip she had on his hand. When Mordred finally finished talking, she shook her head.

“That is quite a tale,” she said, sounding dazed. “It seems that I am not the only one to have suffered much over the years.”

“And yet in the end, I have been very fortunate. I would never have dreamed that I would end up in a place like this.”

“It is an amazing kingdom filled with amazing things,” she said. “And you have certainly made friends in high places. You’ve got two powerful kings who trust you implicitly.”

“They are some of the best friends that I could ever have asked for,” Mordred said warmly and with utter sincerity. Something in Kara’s expression tightened and Mordred wondered if she had somehow taken that as an insult to their own friendship. He opened his mouth to reassure her, but she spoke first, suddenly smiling again.

“I’m pleased that things have gone so well for you, Mordred,” she said. “I’m sure that you have many important duties here.”

Mordred shrugged. “I suppose. Honestly, I’m mostly running errands at the moment.” He told her of his most recent task.

“They just let you wander in and out of Camelot whenever you wish?” she remarked.

“I was one of their own for a while. They know that I mean them no harm.”

Kara stood up and came around to Mordred’s side, leaning her hip against the table next to him. She reached up to brush his hair out of his face, her fingers lingering and then tracing their way down his cheek.

“I am so proud of you, Mordred,” she said softly. “I always knew that you would come to great things. And not just because of your magic,” she added, “but because of your good heart. It’s always been my favorite thing about you.”

Kara traced the pad of her thumb over Mordred’s bottom lip. He immediately reached up to draw her hand away, fighting a grimace; Cecily had done the same thing to him a few days before but it hadn’t made him nearly as uncomfortable as this did. He tried to smile at Kara anyway.

“And I have always admired your bravery and your forthrightness. However—” He paused, wondering if there was any way to say this gently. “I’m sorry, Kara, if I’ve given you the wrong impression, but—”

Kara leaned back, her expression going carefully blank and her hands twisting into the free ends of her shawl again. “Of course,” she said quickly. “It’s been a very long time. I can’t expect you to still feel the same. If you ever did, that is.”

“Kara, I—”

“Who is she?” she asked, trying for friendly interest and not quite managing it. Mordred sighed and let it go.

“Her name is Lady Cecily,” he admitted. “She’s one of the mages, and she’s wonderful. You would like her.”

“I’m sure I would.”

Silence fell between them once more, and where the last had only been slightly awkward this one was decidedly uncomfortable. Mordred fidgeted in his seat.

“It’s getting quite late,” he said, standing up. “And you’ve had a very long and taxing day. I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Yes,” she said immediately. “I should probably turn in for the night.”

Mordred led the way to the door. “I’ll walk you to your chambers,” he offered, but she shook her head.

“That’s alright,” she said. “I remember the way.” She stopped in the corridor and turned back. “You could come by tomorrow though,” she said in a strangely bright tone. “I’ve got something that I would like for you to have.”

“Of course,” Mordred said.

Kara looked at him for a long time, her face inscrutable. Then she stepped in close again, almost close enough for Mordred to step back.

“I’m glad that you still trust me, Mordred,” she said, her eyes dark and intense as they held his.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, confused by the way his heart raced in his chest.

She just pressed a swift kiss to his cheek and wished him a goodnight, walking away and leaving Mordred standing in his doorway with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t place.

* * *

 

 

_ Kara had long since lost track of how long she had been walking. It had been days, she knew that much, but each day ran into the next and she couldn’t tell them apart anymore. She moved in a haze of pain and rage, pushing herself forward for no other reason than that she knew that she could not go back, and that if she stopped going forward she would not be able to start again. _

_ The soles of her shoes had grown thin and given out, so she had tossed them aside. The detritus of the forest floor was not forgiving and her feet were cut up and bloodied from stepping on rocks and sharp sticks, but she paid them no mind. Branches and twigs whipped her as she passed by them, leaving scratches on her arms and face, and she beat them back with all the strength that she had. It wasn’t much anymore. _

_ She grabbed berries off a bush as she passed, stuffing them in her mouth without checking to make sure that they were safe to eat. What did it matter if they killed her? She ate more, just for spite, but she kept moving unaffected. She stumbled into a stream and drank from it before moving on. She thought that she might be going south, but it made little difference when she had no destination. _

_ She slept only when she could walk no further, collapsing beneath the nearest tree and succumbing to the exhaustion that muddled her mind, her thoughts reduced to little more than incoherent snarls of the impotent rage that wouldn’t let her stop pushing on, wouldn’t let her simply lie down and surrender and wait for death to claim her. Whenever she woke, she walked again, eating whatever came within reach and drinking when she found water and stopping again when she fell and could not pick herself back up. _

_ She did not know how long she had been walking when the sound came. It took her a long moment to figure out what it was—days, weeks maybe, of the silence of the forest had robbed her of her quick thoughts—but the pounding of horses’ hooves was not a sound that she would ever forget, no matter how long she lived. It made her heart race and her blood pound, rushing loudly in her ears. Her magic buzzed under her skin and she scratched at it harshly, wanting the horrible sensation to go away. _

_ When she heard voices along with the horses, growing nearer by the second, she ran. Fear gave her the strength to move quickly, though her malnourished limbs shook with fatigue and her eyes blurred with tears. She collided with the trunk of a tree, the impact knocking a cry from her lips, but she simply shoved herself forward again. She wasn’t sure if the pounding she heard was the hooves gaining on her or her own heartbeat thundering in her chest, but she ran anyway, the echo of old screams chasing her on and the remembered stench of smoke and rot clogging her throat until she couldn’t breathe. _

_ When a gloved hand caught hold of her arm, Kara fought against it with all her might. She flailed and lashed out and screamed until her throat was hoarse. Her magic reacted instinctively to her distress, exploding out of her hands in a rush and forcing her captor to let her go. Another man grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms tight around her torso to trap her arms against her sides. _

_ “Dirty little witch!” the first one spat out, picking himself up off the ground. _

_ “Druid,” the other said, his breath hot and wet against her ear. “Look at her arm.” _

_ The first man wrapped his fingers around her wrist in a punishing grip and turned her arm over to see the swirling symbol tattooed on her skin. “That means a bounty,” he said with a sharp, greedy smile. “Let’s take her in.” _

_ In a last fit of desperation, Kara reached for her magic again. She tried to set the ropes they used to bind her hands on fire, but there was hardly a single wisp of smoke. With a cry, she tried to knock the men over again, but they just laughed. One of them slapped her across the face and the other tossed her bodily over the back of his horse and strapped her down. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit late. Yesterday was spent in a bit of a daze after hearing about the Orlando shooting. That's just a few hours away from me and I have a lot of friends in that area. They're all fine, don't worry about me, just send prayers and good wishes to those who are affected. Love on and stay safe <3

It was a good long while—most of it spent tracing patterns in the hard-packed dirt floor and definitely not pouting—before Hunith was content to let Merlin out of the corner. Dinner was already made and on the table by the time she finally came to stand in front of him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and gave him a firm nod. Merlin breathed a sigh of utter relief and struggled to stand properly on feet that had long since fallen asleep. Then he wrapped his mother in a tight hug that she gladly returned.

She accepted his apology easily enough after that, though she still gave him terribly disapproving looks when he explained his, admittedly rather weak, reasons for delaying this particular trip for so long. But she kissed his cheek and put a bowl of her heartiest stew into his hands, and Merlin knew he would be forgiven soon enough.

Dinner was full of laughter and smiles as Hunith was bombarded with stories from Carthis, anecdotes of Merlin’s trials of courtly life, training mishaps from Cecily, melodramatic complaints from Raime about the woes of a servant’s life _—_ which Merlin was happy to corroborate from personal experience _—_ and the like. She was overjoyed to learn of her love’s heritage and the wonderful kingdom that he had left their son, but there was a bittersweetness to it that had her dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief when she thought that Merlin wasn’t looking.

As Merlin had predicted, Hunith took an instant liking to Raime. She fussed over the state of his hair and poured him out a second helping of stew and said that he looked cold and did he need a blanket? Merlin and Cecily sniggered over it until Hunith turned around and gave Merlin the exact same treatment, at which point Cecily took to seconding all of Hunith’s concerns with what appeared to be the utmost sincerity as long as you didn’t notice the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth and the mischievous glint in her eye.

When night fell, all the guests put their collective foot down to ensure that Hunith slept in her own bed rather than give it up to Cecily.

“A lady should never have to sleep on the ground,” Hunith had said, while Cecily replied, “Just as I would say, _Lady Ambrosius_.”

That made Hunith so terribly flustered that it was easy for Merlin to tuck her in, ignoring her protest that she had never been anyone’s lady and likely never would be, and pull the dividing curtain resolutely closed. The rest of them then settled down with their bedrolls spread out across the floor, the heat of so many people in such a small space promising to keep them all nice and cozy through the night.

Merlin almost didn’t notice the call at first, surrounded by snores and the shuffling of blankets. But the second time Kilgharrah’s voice whispered into his head, Merlin reluctantly pushed himself upright and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He nearly tripped over Raime’s foot in the darkness, but conjuring a small mage light let him make it out of the hut without waking anyone up or doing himself an injury.

He followed the call through the village and into one of the larger fallow fields beyond it where he found Kilgharrah waiting for him, an imposing silhouette limned in moonlight. Merlin stifled a yawn and squinted up at his old friend.

“What is it, Kilgharrah?” he called. “It’s the middle of the night. Couldn’t whatever this is have waited until morning?”

“If you wanted to send the townspeople into a panic, perhaps,” Kilgharrah said dryly.

Merlin had to concede the point, shrugging and scratching his beard sleepily.

“And you said that you wished to be told as soon as I discovered something of value,” the dragon continued.

Merlin looked up sharply, hardly daring to believe what he had heard. “You have something? You’ve found a way to heal Aithusa?”

“I may have determined a way for the hatchling to be restored to his proper form,” Kilgharrah confirmed.

Merlin whooped and punched the air, all vestiges of sleep gone as relief and hope spread through him in a rush. “Yes! Yes, thank you, Kilgharrah! Oh god, this is brilliant. I can’t wait to—”

“Do not celebrate just yet, young warlock,” Kilgharrah cautioned. “This is all theoretical on my part.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked.

“The ritual that I propose you use is designed for another purpose,” the dragon said, settling down on his haunches. “I believe that, if the incantation is modified, it may be the solution to our problem. However, there is no precedent for this and I have no guarantee that it will work as I intend it to.”

“It’s worth a try,” Merlin said gamely. “What do I have to do?”

“You will take Aithusa to the Cauldron of Arianrhod in the White Mountains. You will bid him enter the waters there, which he must do freely and in full knowledge of what is about to occur. Then you will summon the White Goddess and beg for her aid.”

Merlin let out a long, slow breath; they had discussed the possibility of a deity’s power being necessary to affect Aithusa, and yet he had still held out hope that such extreme measures would not be necessary. The prospect of summoning a goddess was a little daunting now that it had been set before him. But he would do it if it would stop Aithusa’s pain and give him the chance to become the magnificent creature he was always meant to be.

“Alright,” he said resolutely. “It will be done. We will set off for the Cauldron at first light and I’ll call for Aithusa on the road.”

“Not yet,” Kilgharrah said and Merlin huffed impatiently.

“Why not?” he demanded, anxious to get started now that he had a plan, a concrete goal to work towards after so long with only vague speculation.

“A goddess is not easily brought forth into this world by mere men,” Kilgharrah told him, curls of smoke furling from his nostrils. “It will take an extraordinary amount of power to accomplish such a feat.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m sort of the personification of extraordinary power,” Merlin pointed out. “At least according to the Druids.”

Kilgharrah ignored him. “Your best chance to perform this ritual will be on Samhain, when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest.”

Merlin sighed. Samhain was in three days. He could wait three days, especially if two of them were spent on travel. “Fine,” he said. “Go to the Cauldron on Samhain, get Aithusa into the water of his own free will, and summon the goddess with an incantation that you have not given me yet but surely will.”

Kilgharrah growled at him in annoyance and Merlin ignored him, just looking up at him expectantly.

“Open your mind,” the dragon said archly.

Merlin obediently closed his eyes and let his mental defenses fall. When Kilgharrah’s warm breath washed over him, a wave of pure magic that made every piece of him vibrate with life and energy, the words to the spell rose to the surface of his mind as if they had always been there. Merlin ran over them a few times, dissecting the words and parsing their meaning. He nodded; it would serve their purpose quite nicely.

“Thank you, Kilgharrah,” he said. “With this ritual, I will see Aithusa healed.”

“I do not doubt your determination, young warlock,” the dragon said.

“Only my results?” Merlin quipped.

Kilgharrah laughed, making the ground tremble slightly under Merlin’s feet. “Oh Merlin, I know you too well for that,” he said. “Even when you are left to fumble in the dark, you still somehow manage to achieve your aim.”

“I am going to take that as a compliment,” Merlin said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Though I’m not entirely sure that was the spirit in which it was meant.”

“Return to your sleep, young warlock,” Kilgharrah said, unfurling his wings to block the moon from the sky. “You will need your strength in the days to come.”

Merlin bid him goodnight and watched as the dragon launched himself into the sky, his enormous form growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared among the stars. He turned back toward the village proper, taking a moment to revel in the comforting darkness and silence all around him.

It had been a long time since he had had the opportunity to take a walk at night. Kings were not allowed such liberties, their safety far too important to the sake of the kingdom for them to put themselves in such a vulnerable position. But Merlin was not accustomed to being guarded and monitored every hour of the day. This, sneaking out in the middle of the night to consult the dragon on matters of magic, was much more familiar territory.

He smiled to himself, thinking back on all the times that he had made a trip like this full of worry and apprehension, terrified that someone might see. Now he had nothing to fear should he be caught out. Merlin put his hands in his pockets and would have whistled a tune if he hadn’t at that moment felt a frisson down his spine.

Merlin whipped around to look the way he had come, but he couldn’t see anything through the gloom of the night. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, warning him that he was not alone here. He was still a good ways from the nearest houses, surrounded by open ground and low-growing crops that should not have been able to hide anyone from his eyes, but there was definitely someone there that he wasn’t seeing.

Merlin called his magic to his fingertips and let it coalesce into another mage light, enough to illuminate his immediate area but not so big as to attract attention from the village. He tossed it up to float unsupported and looked around cautiously.

Again, it was only some instinct that had him turning to face his attacker before the first blow fell. A heavy sword whistled through the air just beside his ear as Merlin jerked to the side. The attacker swiped at him again and Merlin ducked, scrambling back out of range of further attacks and cursing that he hadn’t thought to bring his own sword with him on this trip or even wear his chainmail.

Instead he held up his hands, calling forth an attack spell even as he funneled more magic into his mage light to brighten the playing field. The attacker, he saw, was a very large and muscular man with a face that would scare a boar into full retreat. He was clad from head to toe in leather, his arms bare but heavily tattooed in dark ink, and there was a battle axe strapped to his back to accent the enormous sword he had clutched in both enormous hands.

The attacker was surprisingly light on his feet for such a large individual. He dodged the knockback spell Merlin threw at him, rolling to the side and back onto his feet within seconds with his sword at the ready. He rushed at Merlin with a battle cry that made his ears ring. Merlin dove aside, grabbing hold of the sword with magic and wrenching it from the man’s hands to imbed it in the ground a hundred meters away.

The attacker reached for his axe instead but Merlin set the handle to burning, red hot and glowing in the dimness. The man growled as he threw the weapon aside but faced Merlin squarely even without it. He reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out something small and metal. Merlin peered at it, trying to figure out what it was; it didn’t look like a weapon, at least not any sort of weapon that he was familiar with. He reached out with his magic to investigate further, but his attacker noticed his distraction and took advantage of it.

The man crashed into Merlin with the force of a battering ram, knocking them both to the ground and forcing the breath from Merlin’s lungs. They rolled together, the man trying to get his arms around Merlin to pin him down. Merlin let out a pulse of magic, unfocused but effective in throwing the man off of him. He gasped in air, dizzy from all the spinning and the impact with the ground.

The battle cry gave him advance notice of where the attack was coming from, which he very much appreciated. He called forth a shield to give him enough time to regain his feet, though his attacker wasn’t stupid enough to run into it like Sir Bruin had been back in Camelot. Instead he skidded to a halt and dug a dagger out of his boot, holding it at the ready in case an opportunity to bury it in Merlin’s chest presented itself.

Merlin watched him warily, panting, and briefly considered trying to attack through his shield, but the mage light was still hovering above them and he didn’t know if he could split his focus three ways. In the middle of a fight for his life against what seemed to be a very skilled and very determined assassin was probably not the best time to test it. So he decided to take a different sort of risk instead, hoping that passive magic would be easier to utilize now than active magic.

Merlin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. While he let the breath out, he allowed the rest of his magic—the core of it that wasn’t being funnelled into light or shield—to seep out with it, flowing along the ground to creep under his shield, pool around the assassin’s feet, and flow upward again until it encased the whole of him. His presence was suddenly bright in Merlin’s mind, not clear or precise but enough to give him an idea of where the man was and when he moved.

Then Merlin dropped the shield and extinguished the light in the same instant.

The two of them were plunged into a sudden darkness, doubly blinding with the afterglow of the mage light lingering in their eyes. Merlin’s magic worked as a sixth sense and he felt it when the assassin flew at him. He sidestepped and immediately lashed out at the bright spot against his closed eyelids. The snap of the man’s neck was very loud in the quiet night, and he crumpled and did not move again.

Merlin remained where he was for a long moment, half-expecting the man to leap up and run at him again, but the body stayed where it had fallen and the brightness of his life force dimmed slowly until it winked out entirely.

When he was satisfied that his attacker was truly dead, Merlin knelt down to examine him, using magic to push him onto his back and to light the scene once more. He scanned the body with his eyes and his hands both, looking for identifiers or markers of nationality, but he found nothing. There was only the close-fitting leather armour, which was common enough for mercenaries and swords-for-hire in several kingdoms, the tattoos that he didn’t recognize, and the pouch that he had tied to the belt at his waist.

The pouch was empty and Merlin cast his light further into the field, looking for whatever it was the assassin had pulled from it. He found it— _them_ —a few meters back where the assassin must have dropped them when Merlin’s last blow had connected. He picked them up and immediately dropped them again with a hiss of pain. Bewildered, Merlin pulled his sleeve down over his hand and picked them up once more, carefully this time.

They were manacles, though they were delicate enough that they almost looked like bracelets. No chain connected them as was usually the case with shackles but the clasps were thick and sturdy; once locked, these would likely prove difficult to remove. Etched into the metal were what seemed to be runes, though Merlin did not immediately recognize them or their origin. Even through the fabric the manacles felt shockingly cold against his hands and there was a disturbing sensation that came with them, an almost _sucking_ feeling, as if they had a gravitational pull to them.

Merlin shuddered and quickly stuffed them back in their pouch, tying it shut and giving a sigh of relief as the sucking feeling went away. He cast the dead assassin another searching look, then turned back toward his childhood home, leaving the body behind.

 

* * *

 

 

_The two men—bounty hunters, judging by their conversation on the journey—rode for hours through forests and villages and eventually larger cities with Kara still slung over the back of a horse like a sack of potatoes. Every one of the horse’s steps jarred her until she felt as if her ribs might snap under the force of the jostling, and the blood rushed to her head and made her dizzy, but they paid no heed to her shouts or her thrashing so she had soon stopped wasting what little energy she had on such things._

_She never managed to throw herself over the animal’s rump either, because the man riding it had tied a rope around her waist and attached it to his saddle and she didn’t fancy being dragged all the way to wherever it was that they were going. There was nothing she could do but wait to see what fate awaited her when they reached it._

_It turned out to be a palace, or maybe just a fortress of some sort; Kara had never seen such a building up close before, very different from the small and impermanent structures of the Druid camp she had been raised in, so she wasn’t entirely sure what the difference was, but she had sort of expected a castle to be bigger. It was still huge to her, though, and built of a dark stone that made it look like the whole thing was constantly in shadow._

_The horses finally stopped in a cobbled courtyard and one of the men untied Kara and unceremoniously tossed her over his shoulder. She kicked her feet wildly, hoping to catch him in the face, and beat her fists against his back as hard as she could, but none of it did her much good. He didn’t set her down until they had disappeared into the castle, spoken to several people that she couldn’t see from her undignified vantage point, and were ushered into a large, echoing chamber._

_He dumped her on the stone floor then and delivered a kick to her side. Kara snarled and tried to launch herself on him, not caring that there was little that she could do against him, just wanting desperately to hurt him, to get away, to stop feeling so weak and helpless. She was jerked to a stop as the other man grabbed her by the hair and hauled her back. They each took a hold of one of her flailing arms, holding tight until they managed to get her under some semblance of control._

_Eventually her strength failed her and she went limp, hanging from their grip and gasping for breath. She was dizzy and she couldn’t remember the last time she had had anything to eat or drink._

_Loud footsteps rang out from across the room, approaching her, but she didn’t bother to lift her head._

_“What have you got for me today, boys?” came a low, gravelly voice. The tone was a strange mixture of disgust and glee that made Kara’s stomach turn and her blood run cold._

_“A Druid, sire,” one of them said. He yanked her left arm over her head and shook down her ragged sleeve to show the mark._

_“Hmm,” the new voice said, stepping closer. “We haven’t seen one of those here in a while, have we? I thought maybe we had finally run the last of them off.”_

_A pair of sturdy boots appeared in Kara’s line of vision, scuffed and caked in mud. There was a creak of leather as the wearer squatted down in front of her. A large, heavily calloused hand took hold of her chin, wrenching her head up. The man was bald with jowls like a hunting dog’s, thin lips pulled into a cruel sort of smile._

_“Where are the rest of your kind, Druid?” he demanded and hatred thrummed through Kara’s veins like a poison. She jerked her head back, trying to dislodge his hold. He let her go without much fuss, unconcerned._

_“I am no Druid!” she shouted, glaring at him defiantly. “I am not one of them!”_

_“Is that so?” the cruel man asked with a raised eyebrow and a grimly amused smile. “That tattoo on your arm tells a different story.”_

_“I hate them,” Kara spat, yanking fruitlessly at her captors’ grip. “They’re weak and spineless, but I’m not. I’m_ not _like them and I_ never _will be. They deserve to die, every last one of them.”_

_“Interesting,” he said, eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down._

_“Sarrum, sire,” one of the bounty hunters said. “She’s got magic. It’s weak, but—”_

_“I hate that too!” Kara said, disgusted with the burn of it pressing against her palms. “I would rip it out with my bare hands if I could!”_

_“This one’s got fire in her,” Sarrum mused. He reached out to grip her chin again but Kara snapped at him and managed to sink her teeth into the meaty part of his hand, biting down hard enough to draw blood and shaking her head wildly. Sarrum snarled and yanked his hand free. Kara’s teeth took a chunk of flesh with them and she spat it at his face, blood hot and rancid on her tongue._

_“Like a fucking rabid dog,” Sarrum growled, examining the wound. He stood up, looking down at Kara as she stared up at him, all but daring him to kill her. But he didn’t._

_“You say that you hate them,” Sarrum said after a long, evaluating pause. “The Druids. You say that they deserve to die.”_

_Kara nodded, remembering grown men and women with power in their veins cowering before mere swords, begging for mercy from those they could have struck down in an instant and had chosen not to—remembering Mordred doing nothing to help anyone, turning his back on her and leaving her behind to die when he could have saved them all._

_“You say that you hate magic,” Sarrum went on, circling her with slow, steady steps. “Even the magic that lives inside you.”_

_Kara pulled harder against the restraining hands on her arms, writhing with all her might, no matter that it didn’t do her any good. She itched with the magic; she wanted to scratch it, to claw it out, to move, to burn off the excess energy, to_ fight _._

_The Sarrum was squatted down in front of her again, his dark eyes boring into hers with a frightening intensity. She didn’t look away, refusing to back down._

_“What will you do about it?” he asked._

_Kara stared at him, breathing hard. “What?”_

_“The Druids deserve to die,” Sarrum repeated. “Magic deserves to be eradicated. What are you willing to do about that?”_

_“I don’t understand,” Kara said._

_“If you could kill them yourself,” Sarrum said, “would you do it? All those cowardly Druids, all those people riddled with the pestilence that is magic—would you put them out of their misery with your own two hands?”_

_Kara swallowed, the coppery tang of Sarrum’s blood still coating her teeth and sticking in her throat, and thought of Mordred. She thought of Mordred’s father, fleeing into the woods, and of Warren, leaving his children to die rather than fighting for them, and of the elders, teaching them all to be feeble and spineless while calling it righteousness._

_She thought of it all, looked up into Sarrum’s face with a red-stained smile, and said, “Gladly.”_


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur slumped over his desk, holding his head in his hands as he stared down at the pages and pages of information Ellison and Gerund had sent back in answer to his questions. Granted, there had been a lot of questions to start with, but he had not been prepared for the onslaught of magical knowledge that he had received in return. So much of it seemed to go over his head and every answer raised even more questions. Still, his knowledge base was expanding every day and no one could accuse him of not trying, he supposed.

A soft, warm hand descended on the back of his neck, nimble thumbs pressing at the base of his skull and rubbing in soothing circles. Arthur let his head fall all the way forward, chin bumping against his chest, and let out an appreciative moan.

“You should stop looking at those things,” Guinevere said. “The guests will start arriving soon and we can’t have you falling asleep on the front steps because you worked yourself into exhaustion before they even got here.”

“I am not that tired,” Arthur said, even though the beginnings of a yawn were tickling at the back of his throat. “And I need to know this stuff. Not just for the purpose of the summit, but in general. If I’m to govern magical peoples, I need to understand them, and that’s what this—” The yawn finally won out, cutting him off.

“Take a break, sweetheart,” Guinevere said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Have something to eat. Tell George to polish something and let him entertain you with his brass jokes.”

Arthur snorted. “You could not pay me enough to subject myself to that torture!”

He sobered quickly though, rubbing at his tired eyes; he had been reading and rereading these sheets since Mordred had delivered them early that morning, trying to be productive while simultaneously keeping his mind off of what was to come later in the day.

His wife knew his moods well. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, leaning her cheek on the top of his head.

“It’s all going to be fine,” she said. “You are going to talk sense into these people and they are going to listen to you because you’re right.”

“Just being right isn’t going to be enough to get through to them,” Arthur pointed out. “Especially because they don’t trust me to begin with. Hell, half of them already want me dead!”

“You’re doing the right thing,” she insisted. “Nothing will go wrong. And even if it does, you have all your best men to watch your back.”

“All but the best of them, you mean,” Arthur said.

Guinevere gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Merlin would only scare them off. And I think Gwaine would resent being demoted from the top slot.”

“He was never in the top slot!” Arthur cried.

“Sure I was.” Gwaine sauntered into Arthur’s chambers without so much as knocking on the door. “And Merlin is not a citizen of Camelot anymore and therefore does not count, which obviously makes _me_ the best of your men.”

“Hello, Gwaine, come right in,” Arthur said dryly.

Gwaine gave him a bow that somehow managed to look sarcastic. “Just here to let you know that Lord Bayard and his entourage are approaching the gates as we speak,” he said. “Annis and Odin have crossed the borders too; they should be here in maybe another hour.”

“Wonderful.” Arthur blew out a breath and heaved himself out of his chair. “Alright. Here we go.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Sarrum’s guards took Kara to a small chamber in the citadel that held little more than a sleeping pallet and a bowl for washing. Food and water were brought up for her and someone kept her from eating and drinking too quickly and making herself sick with it. Her wounds were treated and she was given new clothes, simple and plain but warm enough for when the incoming winter brought chill winds with it._

_She came down with a fever and lay in bed for days, shaking despite the multitude of blankets wrapped around her small frame and the fire that blazed in the hearth. Her fever dreams were plagued with dark, twisted figures that she was glad she couldn’t remember when she woke._

 

* * *

 

 

All the knights were assembled in proper formation along the steps of the castle. Arthur took his place front and center, head held high despite the weight of the formal crown making his neck ache, and waited for Bayard to make his appearance.

The king of Mercia rode proudly at the head of his party, just as he had done the last time that he had come to Camelot approximately eleven years ago. His blue and yellow standard fluttered in the breeze as his riders fanned out behind him to fill the courtyard. Bayard dismounted and handed the reins off to a waiting stable hand before climbing the stairs to greet Arthur.

“King Arthur,” he said with a nod.

“Lord Bayard,” Arthur responded with the same. “It is an honor to have you here.” He extended a hand, which Bayard took.

“We have been allies these last eleven years,” Bayard said. “I appreciate the peace we’ve kept, and I would like to keep it longer. There have been some very strange happenings around these parts of late, but I will hear it all from you.”

“Thank you for giving me that courtesy,” Arthur said. “I hope that I will be able to put your mind at rest during these talks. But that is for later. Now there are guest chambers awaiting you and a banquet later tonight to welcome you all here. My manservant George will show you the way.”

George hastened forward and gave a deep and perfectly executed bow. “If you please, my Lord, you may follow me in this direction,” he said, his diction, as always, crisp and quick.

Bayard raised an eyebrow in Arthur’s direction. “Are you sure this one won’t accuse me of an assassination attempt?” he asked, though there was a hint of humor under his flat tone.

“Almost certain,” Arthur responded, a smile tugging at his lips.

Bayard followed George into the castle, attendants trailing along in his wake, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief; one down, four more to go.

 

* * *

 

 

_It was two weeks before Kara saw Sarrum again, two weeks spent mostly eating and resting, though she woke often from horrible nightmares that set her to screaming and clawing at her own skin. When first Sarrum let himself into her little chamber, Kara kept her back to the wall and waited, watching him warily._

_He had a long piece of iron with him, bouncing one end of it against his palm as he watched her in return. He idled over to the fireplace and buried the last few inches of the iron rod in the coals before turning back to her._

_“Hold out your arm, girl,” he said._

_“Why?” Kara asked, folding both arms tightly across her chest._

_“Because I can make you not a Druid anymore.”_

_Kara’s eyes widened and her arms fell to her sides again. Sarrum’s lips pulled up into a smile._

_“Yes, that’s what you want, isn’t it? You say you aren’t one of them because they’re weak and you’re not,” he said, his low voice slow and measured. It was almost soothing, in a strange way. “Well, my men are the strongest and most skilled fighters in all the realms, child. And you could be one of them. All you have to do is exactly what I tell you to do.”_

_“And why should I listen to you?” Kara said, though the protest was halfhearted. She wanted to be strong, and he could make her that. He had already taken her in, had given her food and shelter and medicine. He hated magic too, had said as much when he had decided not to kill her for what she was. They wanted all of the same things._

_Sarrum just repeated, “Hold out your arm.”_

_Kara did, knowing without having to ask that it was her Druid tattoo that he was interested in. She didn’t pull away when he grasped hold of her wrist and pulled her toward the fireplace, nor when he pulled the red-hot iron from the fire. She screamed when he pressed the metal against her forearm, burning the damning mark off of her skin, but she didn’t pull away then either._

 

* * *

 

 

Annis arrived next, clad in bronze-decorated leather, draped in tartan, and cutting a stately figure upon a warhorse with gleaming armour plates of its own. The orange of her hair glinted in the sunlight but her eyes were steely as always when she met him on the stairs, offering her hand. He clasped it like he would a man’s, knowing she would accept no kiss on the knuckles like a mere lady.

“Queen Annis,” Arthur said. “I am glad to see you again. It’s been too long.”

Annis didn’t bother with the pleasantries. “You’ve got quite the job ahead of you, young Pendragon, if you intend to turn us all to your cause.”

“You’re certainly not wrong about that,” Arthur conceded.

“You have taken quite a risk in inviting Odin here,” Annis said bluntly. “He did orchestrate your father’s death, after all.”

Arthur ducked his head a moment, still feeling the sting of that particular blow, but he raised it again resolutely. “That may be true, but there is blame on both sides of that feud.”

“And Alined?” Annis continued, never taking her eyes from Arthur’s face. “He’s a sniveling coward of a warmonger as surely as Sarrum is a ruthless murderer. It’s quite a group you’re welcoming into your kingdom today.”

“I realize that, Annis,” Arthur said, standing taller against the scrutiny in her gaze. “They will not be easy to convince of my trustworthiness or my good intentions. But I will admit, I had hoped that I might find an ally in you.”

Her eyes narrowed as she took her time examining him. He let her, hiding nothing in his face.

“Do you swear to me upon my late husband’s grave that you had no knowledge of Merlin Ambrosius’ machinations while he resided in your kingdom?” she said.

“I swear on Caerleon’s grave,” Arthur said readily, “that I knew nothing of Merlin’s magic, nor his birthright in Carthis, until four months ago when he disclosed them to me.”

Annis didn’t answer for a long moment, judging his sincerity. And finally she said, “Then an ally you have.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Sarrum gave Kara a knife first, a small one with an unadorned hilt that was still sharp enough to split hairs. Then he sent her out onto a big field of packed dirt with targets on the other side, painted rawhide stretched over bales of straw all lined up in rows at different distances. He left her there with a man named Rolf who was thin but obviously still strong because he could bury a battle axe in a target 100 meters away._

_He showed her how to hold the dagger properly, how to sight the target, how to throw it without hurting the muscles she wasn’t used to using. He taught her to breathe in and out before she aimed, and to hold her breath while she threw so the movement of her chest didn’t make her hand unsteady._

_The target was very close to start with and she tired easily, still weak and shaky from her flight through the forest and her sickness after it. Her left arm was bound in bandages and the branded skin ached and throbbed with every beat of her heart, but she embraced the pain; it only meant that she wasn’t beholden to the elder’s teachings anymore. She was no Druid and there was nothing holding her back._

_The first time she buried the little dagger to the hilt in the center of target, she whooped for joy. Then she ran another ten meters back and threw it again, and again, and again._

 

* * *

 

 

King Alined arrived with his cringing jester in tow. He bowed to Arthur slightly—an ingratiating gesture that did nothing to raise Arthur’s opinion of him—and thanked him heartily for his invitation to this meeting of esteemed individuals.

“We have matters to discuss of which I am sure you would appreciate knowing more,” Arthur said. “You have questions, as do the others, and it seemed more efficient to answer them all at once.”

“Of course, my Lord, of course,” Alined said immediately. “Most wise of you.”

Trickler came tripping up the stairs toward them, nearly running into his master’s back. Alined turned to glower at him before simpering at Arthur once more.

“I apologize for my jester’s rudeness, sire,” he said. “I assure you that he will be—”

“Your magician’s rudeness, you mean,” Arthur interrupted.

Alined gaped at him, as did Trickler, though Trickler’s expression was tinged with more fear than anything else.

“Don’t worry,” Arthur said. “The abilities Trickler possesses are well within the laws of Camelot now. He has nothing to fear anymore.”

Trickler sagged in obvious relief.

“Unless,” Arthur said, and both the visitors tensed again. “Unless, of course, he engages in the sort of spell-casting that he did upon his last visit here.”

Alined paled. “I’m sure that I don’t know what you mean, your Majesty,” he said, not entirely convincingly.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Arthur said, unimpressed. “This summit is to promote and encourage peace,” he told them sternly. “If either of you are suspected of attempting to sabotage that purpose, by whatever means, I will have you removed from this summit with due haste. Is that clear?”

They both nodded fervently, Trickler bowing almost low enough for his irritatingly jingly hat to sweep the floor.

Arthur smiled broadly, clapping his hands together. “Wonderful! Now that that’s out of the way, you are welcome to retire to the guest chambers to prepare for tonight’s banquet.”

He sent them on their way with a servant to guide them and Annis appeared at his side.

“A bootlicker if ever I’ve seen one,” she said.

“And a slippery one, at that,” Arthur agreed. “But hopefully, if he knows that I have other powerful people on my side, he will see that it is, in fact, in his best interests to be on my side as well. Especially now that he knows for certain that _I_ know that he’s a snake in the grass.”

“Anything and everything that goes wrong will be blamed on him,” Annis said. “He’ll keep his nose clean for the time being, if only to stay above suspicion."

“I’m counting on it.”

“If only the others were so easily manipulated.”

“Would that it were that simple,” Arthur said with a shake of his head.

 

* * *

 

 

_Rolf slammed his fist into Kara’s face and she went sprawling into the dirt of the training field. She rolled to her feet and spat out a mouthful of blood. Her hands, curled into fists, came up automatically to protect her core, knowing well what the consequences would be if she left herself exposed. She blocked Rolf’s next strike and dodged another, ducking behind him to deliver a kick to the back of his right knee. He went down, but lashed out with his right arm, catching her in the shoulder and knocking her off balance._

_Kara stumbled, quickly moving backwards to keep out of range while she regained her footing. Rolf stood to face her again, grinning._

_“Good,” he said. “Stay light on your feet, child.”_

_“I’m not a child,” she said indignantly. “I’m fourteen!”_

_“Bah!” Rolf scoffed. “You’re nothing but a mere babe!”_

_Kara launched herself at him, aiming a punch at his windpipe, but a new hand whipped out to grab her. She found herself thrown around until her face was pressed to the ground, her arm twisted up sharply behind her back until her shoulder screamed with pain and a knee digging into her back._

_“Never let your emotions rule your head,” came the fierce, gravelly voice of Sarrum. “Anger blinds you to your surroundings.”_

_“I thought anger was fuel,” Kara argued, struggling against his hold to no avail. The pain in her shoulder spiked but she bit her tongue and remained silent._

_“You can let it drive you,” he said. “But you must never let it control you.”_

_He released her. Kara climbed to her feet, rubbing at her throbbing shoulder and knowing there would be a handprint of bruises around her wrist soon to match the marks all over the rest of her. Hand-to-hand combat was messy work and she never left the field unscathed._

_“Yes, Sarrum,” she said obediently, bowing her head. “Stay alert and don’t let anger blind me.”_

_A glint caught her attention, just a quick motion in her peripheral vision, and Kara immediately dropped to the ground. The knife flew right over her head, through the spot her heart would have been if she hadn’t moved. Sarrum laughed and clapped his hands together, looking satisfied._

_“Good, good!” he said. “Much better than the last time!”_

_Kara unconsciously reached for the spot where the last dagger had found its home in her side, now only a thick pink scar. It had taken her weeks to recover from it, but she knew now to trust her instincts when they told her to duck._

_“Come now, girl,” Sarrum said, beckoning her forward. “Let me see how your swordplay is coming along. If you can best Tyrien, then I may have a job for you.”_

_“A job?” Kara asked, hopeful. He had made mention of jobs before but he had always been vague, dropping tantalizing hints without giving her a chance to follow through. “What sort of job?”_

_“The sort that you are uniquely suited for,” Sarrum said, clapping a hand on her thin—and injured—shoulder. She held in the noise of pain that wanted to escape her throat; pain was a weakness that needed to be ignored. “I will tell you more if you win this fight.”_

 

* * *

 

 

All of the knights were on high alert when Odin’s party rode into the courtyard, their hands rested not-so-casually on the hilts of their swords. Arthur shot Gwaine a quelling look but Gwaine only looked steadily back, making no promises as to his behavior if Odin so much as misspoke in Arthur’s direction. Arthur appreciated the loyalty, but a show of open hostility was not the way to start this meeting.

“King Odin,” he called by way of greeting as Odin dismounted his horse. The man’s eyes were shifting warily, as if expecting an attack from every angle, but he reached the steps unmolested.

“Pendragon,” he grunted back.

“Thank you for attending,” Arthur said. “Your participation in these talks is much appreciated.”

“There are strange and treacherous things in this kingdom, Pendragon,” Odin said harshly. “Though I should know better than to expect anything else by now.”

Arthur clenched his jaw hard, feeling his teeth grind together in a most uncomfortable manner.

“All your concerns will be addressed in due time,” he said as diplomatically as possible. “I assure you, there is no treachery.”

Odin barked out a laugh. “No treachery, he says!”

“I have never been anything but forthright in my dealings with you, Odin,” Arthur said stiffly. “And I will continue to be so. Whether you choose to believe me is up to you. I will have someone show you to your rooms.”

Arthur waved a timid-looking servant girl over and Odin spat at his feet before following her into the castle. Arthur closed his eyes and took several deep, calming breaths, consciously unclenching his hands where they had balled into fists at his sides.

“Watch your temper around that one, young king,” Annis’ voice came from over his shoulder.

“Easier said than done,” Arthur admitted. “He accuses me of treachery when _he_ is the one who has sent at least six assassins after me over the years, one of which succeeded in killing my father.”

“And still you seek peace with him,” Annis said. “Not many would have the strength to forgive such a man.”

“I don’t know about forgiveness, but I seek peace with everyone.” Arthur shook his head, staring out over the courtyard, over the servants doing their chores and the townspeople running their errands. All of them had suffered so much, seen so much war in the past years. They didn’t deserve it. “I want nothing more than an end to all the bloodshed.”

“An admirable goal, but is it a feasible one?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ll never know if I don’t try.”

Annis put a hand on his shoulder and said nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Kara heard the pounding of the horses’ hooves long before any of the Druids around her did. They were relaxed, supposedly safe in their little hideaway at the very edge of the forest on the western border of Amata. This is where all the magic users fled to, the Druids taking them in for a few days at a time and then ferrying them out of the kingdom to safer territory. The system had worked for years, no one ever able to actually_ find _the camp with all the protective enchantments that surrounded it._

_No one but Kara. She had stumbled through the woods, bruised and bloodied and crying out for help, and a Druid had come to her call. She had magic and she had shown him that. She had said that she had been caught, had been attacked, and had barely escaped being dragged before the king for execution. The man had given her his cloak and welcomed her into his camp with open arms._

_It was depressingly easily for her to sneak out the next night and signal the warriors that Sarrum had sent along behind her, waiting in the woods. And now, at first light, they were coming._

_Kara’s magic thrummed under her skin as it always did when hoofbeats resounded around her, but she pushed it down and drew the dagger from her boot instead. As soon as the first leather-clad man came screaming into the camp, she buried it in the back of the Druid who had come to fetch her from the woods. His expression of shock and horror put a satisfied smile on her face._

_She snatched a crossbow off of a passing warrior’s horse and fitted a bolt to it, standing back to watch the chaos. Anytime she saw a sorcerer with his hands in the air, begging for mercy instead of fighting back the way she knew that he could, she put a bolt between his eyes._

_When the last of them had been put down and all was quiet and still, a heavy hand came down on Kara’s shoulder. She turned to see Sarrum himself, surveying the destroyed camp._

_“You did well, Kara,” he said and Kara wondered if there was warmth in his voice or if she was imagining it. “Thanks to you, we are one step closer to eliminating the plague of magic in this realm.”_

_She smiled._

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur hastily made sure his crown was on straight, stretching his tired neck as he did, and stood as tall as he could while the delegation from Amata filed into the courtyard. They were the last to arrive and Arthur had been standing on these steps for hours on end, but this meeting was perhaps the most crucial; of all the royal guests, Sarrum was arguably the most dangerous and he would likely be the hardest for Arthur to sway to his side.

“We are most grateful that you accepted our invitation,” Arthur called out as Sarrum approached, still atop his horse. “We welcome you and your warriors with friendship.”

“The last time I met you, you were ten years old,” Sarrum said. “Uther held a tournament in your honor.”

Arthur shifted on his feet, though it didn’t quite sound like Sarrum was intending to be patronizing. “I fight my own tournaments now,” he said.

“So I have heard,” Sarrum said.

He dismounted and came to stand before Arthur, eyeing him critically. The man wasn’t particularly tall—shorter than Arthur by a decent bit—but he was wide and heavily built, a solid and sturdy presence that felt very reminiscent of a stone wall.

Arthur met Sarrum’s small, dark eyes and held them steadily, refusing to be intimidated by either the man’s behavior or his reputation. He could feel Annis watching them from the palace doors where she had taken up residence, wishing to get a feel for the other monarchs as much as Arthur, but he did not turn to look or buckle under the weight of her stare against his back.

After what seemed to be a very long time, when Arthur was starting to feel the burning need to blink, Sarrum’s face broke into a wide grin. He clapped his hands on Arthur’s arms, giving him an almost-friendly shake.

“All grown up, for sure!” he laughed. “I shall enjoy putting you to the test on the training field later!”

Arthur mouthed silently for a moment, at a loss. “I look forward to it,” he stammered out eventually. He exchanged a baffled glance with Annis before turning back to the man in front of him. “There are chambers prepared for you if you would like to refresh yourself before the banquet tonight.”

“Of course, of course,” Sarrum said genially, or as genially as he could manage in such a rough voice. He met the servant halfway up the stairs and gestured him on, disappearing inside.

“Well, that was not what I expected,” Arthur said flatly as Annis descended the stairs to meet him, both of them still staring after Sarrum’s retreating form.

“Certainly not,” she said.

“Perhaps he’ll change his tune when talk of magic comes up,” Arthur said.

“Perhaps,” Annis mused. She turned to face him steadily. “Watch your back, Pendragon, lest a friendly hand come to bear a hidden dagger.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Kara threw the ragged cloak from around her shoulders as she entered the throne room, tossing it aside. She stopped before Sarrum’s throne and knelt, bowing her head._

_“Is it done?” he asked._

_“Yes, sire,” Kara said. “They’re dead.”_

_“All of them?”_

_Kara looked up, only just resisting a self-satisfied grin. “Every last one of them, my Lord. They will not trouble us again.”_

_“Once more you my exceed expectations, my dear,” Sarrum said, pushing himself to his feet and stepping down off the dais to stand on her level. “That is seven magical enclaves you have infiltrated and destroyed. More than any of my men have managed before.”_

_“It is necessary work, sire,” Kara said, standing tall. “Someone has to do it, and as you have said before, I am uniquely suited.”_

_She resisted the urge to touch the scar on her forearm, the skin there rough and smooth in turns from the brand that had burned off her Druid mark. She told the sorcerers she hunted that she had burned it off herself to avoid being identified and captured; they always cooed over her then, praising her bravery and her stoicism, lamenting the lengths that she had had to go to in order to protect herself. Little did they know that she treasured the scar that had stripped her of her taint._

_“You are doing good work, Kara,” Sarrum said. “You know as well as I do that magic is a scourge upon this land.”_

_“I know it better than anyone,” she said with a shudder. “I have felt its poison.”_

_She still did. It surged inside her sometimes, stronger than ever before. Every time she had to use it to gain someone’s trust, to convince them that she was_ like them _, the feeling grew. It made her sick to her stomach._

_“You will rise above it,” Sarrum said firmly. “You are strong now, Kara. To succumb to such a temptation would be shameful weakness, but you are better than that.”_

_“I know,” she said. “I will never fall to that darkness again. My aims are yours, Sarrum, and they always will be. You can rest assured of that.”_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Whoops, sorry this chap is late! Father's day celebrations ran later than I expected them to, lol.)

They were supposed to set out for Carthis on horseback the next morning, but it was decided that they would use Merlin’s transportation crystal to get them all back more quickly in light of the attempt on Merlin’s life. Cecily had nearly thrown a fit when Merlin had told them of his little midnight expedition, ranting at him about recklessly endangering his own life and putting the whole kingdom at risk and leaving her—his _bodyguard_ , brought along specifically to prevent this exact situation—behind like a completely and total _moron_.

Honestly, Raime agreed with her, but Merlin had rolled his eyes and brushed it off like he always seemed to brush off any threat to his person, though Raime wasn’t sure if that was because Merlin didn’t take the threats seriously or because he still wasn’t entirely convinced of his own importance. Either way, he was wrong.

Raime was sent to ready the horses and get them packed up while Merlin explained everything to his mother and extended the invitation for her to come back with them. When Merlin showed up at the stables without her, Raime assumed that she had turned it down, preferring to stay where she had always been.

“She said that she might join me in Carthis later,” Merlin told him. “After she’s got her affairs settled here.”

Raime wasn’t sure what sort of affairs an old woman could possibly have in a little hamlet like this, but he figured that it wasn’t really any of his business anyway. He finished strapping down the last saddlebag and mounted his pony with some difficulty; he hadn’t had much occasion to ride horses before getting this job, but he was getting better. Cecily took hold of his arm, and he of Merlin’s, and they were all overtaken by the jostling, suffocating darkness of the transportation spell.

Practically as soon as their feet had touched the ground, Merlin was running off to shut himself up with Lord Ellison and Sir Gerund and talk shop for however long it would take them to decide whatever it was they needed to decide; most of it went over Raime’s head, but then no one ever bothered to stop and explain anything to him, did they? No, they always just went running off to do things without him.

At least Cecily stayed in the stables to help him untack the horses, though she did seem to be rushing to get it done.

“Do you have somewhere important to be?” Raime asked as she almost dropped her gelding’s saddle in her haste to hang it on its hook. “Or should I say, someone important to see?” he added, raising a suggestive eyebrow at her.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” she responded primly, hanging the saddle up properly. “Mordred said that he would come with me to visit my sister at the Camp.”

“The Camp?” Raime asked, surprised. “I didn’t know you were a Druid!”

Not that all Druids lived in the Camp, or that the Camp was entirely made up of Druids. But that was where those who strictly followed the Druid’s teachings were trained—a large, breezy enclosure not too far out into the woods, filled with tents and campfires and people in simple robes. Raime had only been there a few times but the whole place came with an aura of peace and relaxation.

Cecily laughed. “I’m not,” she said. “And my sister wasn’t born one either, but Taryn is a Seer, and a strong one. She went to live with the Druids when she was nine years old so that she could learn to control and utilize her ability properly. I was five at the time and desperate to be just like my big sister. I insisted that she teach me everything she learned from them whenever she came back to visit. Sometimes I forget that I’m not a Druid myself, I know so much of their ways.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ why you and Mordred get along so well,” Raime said and immediately had to duck the handful of hay Cecily threw at him.

“Mordred hasn’t been down to the Camp yet,” she said, not deigning to acknowledge his comment any further. “And I haven’t seen Taryn in weeks, so I said he should come with me for a visit when we got back from Ealdor. Now we’re both back and I thought this would be as good a time as any to head out there.”

“Well, we’re all done here,” Raime said, giving his pony one last, fond pat on the neck. “Let’s go find your man.”

Cecily shoved at his shoulder but she didn’t deny it, and she didn’t protest when he fell into step beside her on the way back up to the citadel.

Raime liked Cecily quite a lot for that; she was always happy to let him tag along after her, even if she was on important mage business. The other knights and mages tended to shoo him off, but Merlin really didn’t give Raime all that much to do each day and he usually ran out of chores long before dinner and was left with nothing but boredom. Sir Frederick especially had been quick to run him off the training field the few times he had tried to hang around and watch, even though Merlin had said that he didn’t mind having Raime there.

Raime kept close on Cecily’s heels as they entered the castle, wondering if she would give him the boot when they found Mordred so the two of them could have some alone time. Not that didn’t get plenty of that already, in his opinion. They were almost always together, either sparring together on the training field with swords or magic, or walking through the lower town together, or going on horse rides in the woods together, or dining together. This might have been the first time Raime had seen Cecily without Mordred by her side in weeks!

Which made it doubly strange to happen upon Mordred walking through the corridors with a completely unfamiliar girl—who definitely was not Cecily—on his arm and grinning at her like a loon.

“Mordred!” Raime called out, jogging up to them with a wave. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Cecily had stopped walking in the middle of the corridor, looking at the two of them with a pinched sort of expression on her face.

It took Mordred a moment to pull his gaze away from the girl and acknowledge Raime as he approached. “Hello,” he said. “You’re back from Ealdor?”

“Obviously,” Raime said.

“Who’s this?” the girl asked, pressed close against Mordred’s side and looking Raime up and down.

“Oh, this is Raime,” Mordred told her. “King Merlin’s manservant.”

“Yeah, that’s me, hello,” Raime said, holding out a hand for her to shake. She eyed his hand dubiously before taking it lightly in hers. “And who are you?” he asked, too confused to be anything other than blunt.

“Yes, why don’t you introduce us to your friend?” Cecily said, drawing even with them. There was a polite smile on her face but even Raime could tell that it wasn’t genuine. Mordred didn’t seem to notice though, which was odd. He just put an arm around the girl’s shoulders and beamed at her.

“This is Kara,” he said, strangely breathless. “My best friend.”

“I thought Merlin was your best friend,” Raime said, indignant on his master’s behalf. “And anyway, how can she be your best friend? I’ve never even seen her before!”

Mordred shot him a dirty look, and not the playful sort he usually did but an actual mean-looking one. Kara took a hold of his hand where it rested on her shoulder and his expression cleared immediately, returning to a dopey smile.

“We grew up together,” Kara told them. “We come from the same Druid camp, but we were separated when it fell to a raid.”

“We’ve found each other now, though,” Mordred said, sounding nothing short of overjoyed at the fact. And he hadn’t even acknowledged Cecily’s presence yet.

Cecily said, “That’s wonderful,” in a voice that was just a tiny bit off, as if she needed to clear her throat or maybe as if she wanted to cry a bit. “I’m really happy for you, Mordred.”

“We always said that we would be together forever,” Mordred replied without even taking his eyes off of Kara, who smiled back at him looking quite smitten.

Cecily sucked in a sharp breath, going stiff all over. The hurt on her face made Raime want to punch Mordred in the face for being such a jerk. Couldn’t he see what his words were doing to her? Mordred knew that Cecily cared about him, and Raime had thought that he cared for her too, but you would never think so from how he was acting now. It was a far cry from the blushing and stammering and cheek-kissing from the stables in Camelot.

“Hey, Mordred,” Raime said with maybe a bit more force than was warranted. “Weren’t you going to go visit Taryn today?”

“Who?” he asked, brow furrowed in what looked like honest confusion.

“Cecily’s sister, Taryn,” Raime said.

“You said that you wanted to go with me when the next time I went to visit her in the Camp,” Cecily told him.

“Oh,” Mordred said blankly. “Right. Um.”

“But you don’t have to,” Cecily jumped in. “I mean, if you’re busy or something. You’ve obviously got more important things to do now.”

“But he—” Raime started.

“No, it’s fine, Raime,” she said, trying to smile at him. “If he would rather stay here with...with Kara, then that’s what he should do. I’m sure they’ll have a wonderful time together. Excuse me, I’ve got to go. My sister’s expecting me.”

Cecily turned on her heel and disappeared down the corridor, her blue cloak whipping behind her. Raime stood for a moment, torn between running after her to make sure that she was alright even though it was clear that she wasn’t and staying where he was to give Mordred a piece of his mind for being so mean. He turned around to do just that in time to see Mordred staring after Cecily too, a strange, almost disoriented look on his face. The look disappeared as soon as Kara nudged him in the stomach, his full and devoted attention returning to her.

“You were going to show me the gardens,” Kara said sweetly, completely unperturbed by the run-in with Cecily and the obvious distress it had caused her.

Mordred smiled at her, full of enthusiasm. “Of course! They’ve got daisies blooming all year round. We could make daisy chains like we used to. The crowns you made always looked so lovely in your hair.”

Kara let Mordred babble on in that vein while she tugged him along down the corridor again, ignoring Raime entirely as she brushed past him. Raime watched them go, at a loss, and his eye was caught by a glint of silver. There was a bracelet on Mordred’s wrist that he had never seen before. Mordred didn’t wear jewelry; he had told Raime once that he couldn’t stand to have something so loose around his wrist when he fought.

Just before they turned the corner, Kara reached up to wrap her hand around Mordred’s wrist. It looked like an affectionate gesture, but Raime couldn’t help but notice that her thumb brushed across metal instead of skin.

 

* * *

 

 

_Kara was not a guard and she did not appreciate being used like one. She was a trained assassin with dozens of kills under her belt; leaving her standing beside a hole in the ground watching over a restrained and helpless prisoner was a vast underutilization of her many skills. But Sarrum had insisted and if he gave an order then it was in her best interests to follow it. She still had scars on her back from the last time that she had disobeyed a direct order from the king._

_The prisoner was a witch, and a powerful one, from what Sarrum said. She had been terrorizing the entire land for years, killing indiscriminately and seeking power for herself. She was helpless now though, bound in cold iron chains that suppressed her magic so thoroughly that she was entirely at their mercy. Sarrum had been crowing about that victory for days._

_A shrieking cry came from within the pit, echoing around the small space, and Kara glanced down. The witch was where she had been since Kara’s shift had started, huddled against the wall with her arms bound above her head, but the little dragon was thrashing, pulling frantically at the thick manacle around its hind leg and beating its wings ineffectually against the stones._

_They had caught the dragon first, a small thing that couldn’t be more than a few years out of the egg. It had been alone, flying low through the woods and snatching up small game as it passed. It hadn’t been difficult for someone to toss a net over it as it flew by, drag it down and wrap it up tightly so that it couldn’t move. Had it been older it would have breathed fire at them, but all this little creature had managed were a few puffs of smoke and a ringing in their ears from its piercing cries._

_The witch had come looking after her pet had not returned to her. She had fought for a while, had killed a half a dozen men in her quest to retrieve the dragon, but when a knife had been pressed to the creature’s breast, she had stopped fighting. Her care for the hatchling had crippled her, left her vulnerable just long enough to be subdued completely. Now they shared a prison, if it could even be called that._

_The witch made gentle shushing noises, talking softly to the dragon to soothe its distress. Finally its cries dulled to whimpers and it curled in on itself, wrapping its wings around its thin body. It was hard to tell from such a height but Kara thought that it might be shaking. She turned back to her post._

_“You have magic.”_

_The witch’s voice was quiet, hoarse from shouting at the guards to leave her precious Aithusa alone. They never heeded her threats, hollow as they were with her magic suppressed._

_“Shut up, witch,” Kara snapped at her, irritated by the burn in her fingertips. She had long ago stopped giving in to the urge to scratch, though her arms were still crisscrossed with thin white scars, so she clenched her hands tight around the guisarme she held instead, her knuckles going bloodless around the weapon’s long handle._

_“I can feel it,” the witch said. “Sense it. Your magic.”_

_“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Kara said. She wasn’t sure why she was feeling so defensive; it wasn’t as if everyone in the court didn’t know that she had magic inside of her, that she only used it to further their cause, that she hated it as much as they did if not more._

_“I know far more than you do,” the witch said with a weak sort of laugh. “I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion. I am a Seer with knowledge of days to come.”_

_“You are a filthy_ witch _,” Kara spat. She reached her weapon down into the pit to ram the blunt end into the witch’s side. The witch let out a grunt of pain and the dragon set to squawking his protest of her treatment._

_The dragon was quieted somehow and there was blessed silence for a while. Kara tried to keep her focus on the task at hand, but guard duty was always hellishly boring to begin with and she could feel...something. All the times that she had infiltrated some magic users’ hideaway she had felt the tingle of magic in the air around them, but she had never felt anything as strong as this, the aura of power radiating from the trapped sorceress beneath her._

_“Why do you hate yourself so much?”_

_“I told you to be quiet.”_

_“I used to hate myself too, you know,” the witch said. “When I was younger and living in Camelot. It was hard not to with Uther Pendragon as my guardian.”_

_It was clear the woman didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut, so Kara didn’t bother wasting her breath again. She shifted her guisarme to her other hand and set about ignoring the witch’s babble._

_Ignoring her was easy for a while—Kara didn’t give a damn about her supposedly tragic childhood, not when her own had been such a nightmare—but it wasn’t always. The longer Kara spent near Morgana with the feel of her trapped magic hanging in the air between them, the more her own magic flared inside her, demanding her attention. The burn scar on her forearm was soon bloody from where she had scratched at it, trying to remind herself of why she hated the damn feeling to begin with, no matter how warm it made her feel._

_And then there were the things that Morgana said, the stories that she told. She spoke of the beauty of magic and the amazing things that it could do. She spoke of the power that it gave her, of how much she had accomplished in such a short time all because of a few words and a wave of her hand. She spoke of being a young girl desperate to do good and an environment that refused to let her do it._

_Morgana spoke of the Pendragons, of how they had set out to destroy magic because they feared it and what it could do. And they were right to fear it, she said, because it would be their undoing. Even if the Druids were too cowardly to stand with her in her quest against the Pendragons, there were others who would stand at her side. There was nothing wrong with having magic, she said. Rather the sin lay in doing nothing when one’s kin were threatened._

_For months and months Morgana spoke, her voice drifting up out of the pit that she was chained in. Kara suspected that she talked just to keep herself occupied, not truly caring if Kara was listening or not, and to keep herself and the little dragon from going mad. But Kara did listen. Even when Sarrum released her from duty as a guard and sent her on other missions, she came back and found a way to return to that pit, Morgana’s words in her ears and the magic hot in her veins._


	9. Chapter 9

Ellison and Gerund were already in the throne room when Merlin reached it, hearing the last of the day’s open audiences. Something in his demeanor must have caught their attention because Gerund shooed the man out the door with some vague reassurances that they would handle the situation, whatever it was, promptly and with all due care. Then he shut the door behind him.

“How did Ealdor go?” Ellison asked, taking the circlet off his head and tossing it onto the seat of the throne.

“It went fairly well, all things considered,” Merlin said, hedging a bit. “Mum knows all and she was only angry for a little while. She has some stuff to do for now, but she is thinking about moving out here when harvest season’s over.”

“That’s great!” Gerund said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But why do you look so shifty?”

“Oh, er…shifty? No!” Merlin scratched the back of his neck. “Kilgharrah showed up,” he said. “He’s found a way for me to heal Aithusa! So I’ll be setting out for that tomorrow and—”

“That still doesn’t explain the shiftiness,” Ellison said, crossing his arms and giving Merlin a very no-nonsense look. “Out with it.”

Merlin bit his lip. “There may or may not have been a very brief and highly ineffective attempt on my life,” he said in a rush. “But obviously I am completely fine and it’s of no consequence whatsoever. So if we could just get back to the—”

“ _What_?” Gerund cried, a similarly outraged noise erupting from Ellison as well.

“I’m fine!” Merlin insisted.

“That’s not that point!” Ellison said. “What sort of attempt? And by whom? What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin sighed. He picked up Ellison’s circlet and tossed it back to him so that he could flop down onto the throne. “It was just a run of the mill assassination attempt,” he said. “Not exactly flashy or special. A big burly man in leather came after me with a sword in the middle of the night and I put him down. That’s just about it.”

“Was there any indication of who sent him or where he came from?” Gerund demanded, his hand on the hilt of his sword as if he was going to run off after whomever it was himself right that moment.

“No, there was nothing that I could identify,” Merlin said. “Everything very standard. But really, I’m more interested in the ritual that Kilgharrah told me about.”

“Well, _I’m_ more interested in _who keeps trying to kill you_ ,” Ellison said, exasperation dripping from his tone.

“All new monarchs face opposition,” Merlin said. “Especially ones that come out of nowhere, immediately start forging connections with powerful kingdoms, and generally make waves and cause a ruckus.”

“This is the fifth time someone’s come after you in two months, Merlin,” Gerund said, his expression grave. “All of them completely unidentifiable. I think it’s cause for concern at this point.”

“There’s not much we can do about them considering that they are, as you have pointed out, unidentifiable,” Merlin sighed. “And anyway, none of them have been successful so far, have they?”

“It only takes one,” Ellison said. He rubbed at his forehead. “We need to know who’s responsible for this.”

“We’ve already gone over the whole list a dozen times, Ellison,” Merlin groused. “Plenty of people have reason to want me dead, but none of them particularly stands out. We don’t have any way of narrowing it down.”

“You’re certain there wasn’t anything on this latest attacker?” Gerund asked. “Anything at all that could help us figure out who sent him?”

“No. Well, maybe. Only this.”

Merlin untied the cloth pouch that he had taken off the assassin from his belt and handed it to him. Gerund looked at it curiously before opening it. The second the metal of the cuffs touched his hand, he dropped it. He and Ellison exchanged startled looks.

“Yeah, I did the same thing,” Merlin said. “Are those what I think they are?”

Ellison tugged a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap his hand in as he knelt down to pick up the dropped cuff. He turned it over and over in his hand, examining the runes etched into the metal. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I have,” Gerund said grimly, holding the other manacle with the pouch as a buffer. “Years ago. I was lucky enough not to have to get locked into them myself, but others weren’t. These right here are the reason that our mages are required to have at least one secular weapon as well as their magic.”

“So I was right to think that these are meant to contain and suppress a person’s magic?” Merlin asked. He shook his head, his very skin crawling at the thought of having his magic trapped and useless. It brought back memories of the Dorocha and the way they had affected him. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been so helpless, or so terrified, and he never wanted to feel like that again.

“Yes, and these are particularly strong ones, by the feel of them,” Gerund said.

“Where would this assassin have gotten something like these?” Ellison asked, gladly handing the manacle he held back to Gerund. “The runes are definitely magical in nature.”

“But you don’t need magic of your own to carve magical runes into metal,” Merlin said. “The runes have their own power that can be made use of.”

“And the cold iron has its own anti-magical properties as well,” Gerund added. “These could have come from anyone with the know-how, and that’s not too hard to come by.”

“Gerund, would those be strong enough to subdue someone as powerful as Morgana?” Merlin asked suddenly.

“Perhaps,” he said, frowning.

“And could a similar cuff bind a dragon? A small one, at least?”

“You think the person attacking you is the same one who held Morgana and Aithusa captive?” Ellison asked.

“There’s no reason to think it isn’t,” Merlin said. “I know Uther used something similar to chain Kilgharrah beneath his castle for decades, but I destroyed those chains when I released him nine years ago and Arthur has never seen else anything like them in the vaults or anywhere else. If another kingdom has a grudge against magic and also has the ability to suppress it, I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t act on it, against Morgana _and_ against me.”

“As it stands, there are plenty of kingdoms that still outlaw magic,” Ellison pointed out. “This could have come from any number of them. How do we narrow it down?”

Merlin pushed himself to his feet to face them both fully. “By healing Aithusa,” he said resolutely. “He’s the only one who will be able to tell us who is responsible for all of this. I will take him to the Cauldron of Arianrhod and appeal to the White Goddess to restore him to full health.”

“The White Goddess?” Gerund exclaimed. “Are you mad?”

“You want to get a goddess to do your work for you?” Ellison asked, disbelieving.

“If that’s what it will take, yes. It’s worth a shot.”

“Ah yes, of course, it’s worth a shot to just call down a goddess and have a chat, maybe ask for a favor or two, no big deal,” Ellison drawled.

Merlin shot him a look. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”

“Look, Merlin, if you’re going to go running off into the wilderness again, we are going to do it properly,” Gerund said, hands on hips and looking very stern. “We’ll organize a party to go with you.”

“We most certainly will not!” Merlin said, indignant.

“Yes, _my Lord_ , we will,” Ellison chimed in. “You’re the king, Merlin. You’re too important to just go wandering off by yourself all the time. Especially when there are people out there who are actively trying to kill you.”

“People with the ability to take your magic out of the equation,” Gerund added.

“Only if they seriously get the drop on me,” Merlin countered. “Which none of them have been able to do.”

“So far!” Ellison cried, throwing up his hands in frustration. “That doesn’t mean one of them won’t!”

“Look, this ritual has to take place on Samhain,” Merlin said. “That’s in two days. I don’t have time to get a large party of knights and mages mobilized and all the way to the Cauldron—with an injured dragon, I might add—before I lose my window of opportunity. And we have every available man and woman already assigned to a patrol.”

“We could pull some of them from the—”

“If you say from the Mercian border, I might have to smack you,” Merlin said with a hard look at Gerund. “You know as well as I do what a bad idea that is in the current climate.”

“You need someone with you,” he insisted. “You need someone watching your back.”

“I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, _but_ —” Merlin held up a hand against the inevitable influx of protests. “—if it will make you stop nagging me, I’ll take Lady Cecily with me. She’s the only one who isn’t currently on a rotation, and she is an excellent fighter even without magic. Will that satisfy you?”

“No,” Ellison said immediately, sounding distinctly petulant. “But you’re damned stubborn when you want to be and I technically don’t have the authority to overrule you.”

“Too right you don’t.” Merlin smiled brightly as he headed for the door. “You know, I like being king,” he said, turning around to walk backwards. “It makes getting my own way much easier. I used to have to fight for stuff like this.”

Ellison made a face at him and Gerund opened his mouth to comment, but the throne room doors opened before he could get a word out. Raime was there, looking somewhat troubled.

“Merlin, sire,” he said. “I was just talking to Mordred and he—”

“Oh good! Did he get those papers back to Arthur?” Merlin asked. He had spent the last two months answering every question Arthur could think of about magic and its usage, but the man was constantly thinking of more. Arthur’s incessant questions had led to Merlin spending many a late night with the High Priest, though, as he and Kane discussed the ones they had not had immediate answers for.

“I don’t know,” Raime said, “but there was this—”

“Yes, he did,” Ellison broke in. “It took us hours to finish them all, and honestly there were a few we weren’t sure about, but Kane helped out with those. It should be enough to cover him for a while.”

“Brilliant,” Merlin said, rubbing his hands together. “Now I need to go get packing for the Cauldron.” He swept out the doors, already planning what he needed to bring with him and running through the spell Kilgharrah had given him in his head to make sure he didn’t forget it. There was a tug on his cloak.

“Merlin, wait,” Raime said. “There’s something up with Mordred. There’s this girl and he—”

“Ooh, cloak!” Merlin said, stopping abruptly. “I almost forgot! Kane said the Lower Priests should have finished with the final prototype of the invisibility cloak by now. I was going to test it out, but I’m going to be too busy. Raime, could you fetch the cloak from the Priests and take it down to Sir Frederick? He’ll try it out and report to me on it when I get back from the Cauldron.”

Merlin set off for his chambers again, briefly marveling at how busy the life of a king was. There were just too many things to get done and never enough time to do them all in.

“Merlin!” Raime cried after him.

“Oh, and if you run into Cecily, could you let her know that she’s going with me to the Cauldron?” Merlin called back, barely glancing over his shoulder. “We leave first thing in the morning! Thanks, Raime!”

Raime’s only answer was a huff of irritation, but Merlin didn’t notice.

 

* * *

 

 

_Kara tightened her grip on the crossbow in her hands and slowly shifted her position, waiting to be absolutely certain that the soft shush of her feet on the cobblestones had not given away her position. When the guard simply rubbed his nose and turned away, Kara reached for a bolt and nocked it, sighting carefully. When the guard turned back toward her once more, she let it fly._

_The bolt—fletched with the black and green of Escetia—buried itself in the guard’s neck and he went down with a quiet gurgle and a thump. Kara waited until his struggles slowed and then stopped before she emerged from her cover. She stepped over the growing pool of blood that surrounded him and boarded the little wooden platform against the pit wall, using the winch to lower herself down into the darkness as quickly as she dared._

_It was a very tight fit. Aithusa had grown over the two years that he and his mistress had been imprisoned, though not nearly as much as he would have done if he had been free and properly fed, and even his emaciated form took up the majority of the space. Morgana was tucked beneath his good wing, the one that wasn’t permanently bent at an unnatural angle, and she looked up when Kara said her name._

_“What are you doing?” she whispered._

_“Breaking you out of here.” Kara cast a mage light and Morgana squeezed her eyes shut, turning away from the brightness._

_Kara bent down to get a better look at the manacles around Morgana’s skeletal wrists, fury pulsing through her when she saw the clotted blood around them from where the skin beneath had been rubbed raw. She pulled a lock pick from her pocket and set to work, hoping these wouldn’t be too different from any of the other shackles that she had been trained to break out of._

_She was in luck. It only took a few minutes of concerted effort before the lock clicked open. Morgana gasped like she had been doused in icy water, her eyes fluttering closed. Kara set to work on the second manacle. This time when it fell free, Morgana’s entire body arched and her eyes flew open, flooding with a pure gold that was brighter even than the mage light that Kara had conjured. Kara sat back, wide-eyed and awed at the rush of magic so strong that she could feel it even from a distance._

_“You did it,” Morgana panted. “Kara, you did it.”_

_“Of course I did,” she said. “You don’t deserve this.”_

_She turned her attention next to the thick cuff around Aithusa’s leg. The dragon whined at first and tried to pull away from the unfamiliar touch, sure that this stranger wanted to cause him harm like all the others had, but Morgana reached out to stroke his head and murmured reassuring words to him. He settled down after a while and let Kara do her work. This lock was larger and a bit more difficult, but she got it off eventually and the dragon let out a strangled cry that still managed to sound like a roar of freedom._

_Kara shushed him hurriedly, listening carefully for the sounds of shouts or footsteps coming toward them, but there was nothing; the guards were too used to listening to the poor dragon’s pitiful cries, and Morgana’s, to come running every time they made a ruckus in the middle of the night. Satisfied that they hadn’t been caught out and still had some time, Kara helped Morgana to stand on weak legs and sat her on the platform so that she could lift them both out and then sent it back down to give Aithusa a lift out too._

_“Can you make it?” Kara asked as Morgana swayed on her feet, looking frighteningly thin and frail after her prolonged mistreatment._

_“I’ll manage,” Morgana assured her._

_“I got you food and water,” Kara said, fetching the pack from where she had left it. “There’s a blanket as well, and a knife, in case you need it. Now go, before someone raises the alarm!”_

_“You’re not coming with us?” Morgana asked._

_Kara shook her head and pressed the pack into Morgana’s hands. “I’ve got unfinished business here,” she said. “I’ve been Sarrum’s puppet for years. He manipulated me, twisted my mind. He has used me as a weapon against my own kind and he deserves to pay for that.”_

_“But what if you’re implicated in my escape?”_

_“Don’t worry, my Lady. I’ve been careful. No one will suspect my hand in it,” Kara promised. “In fact, there’s a guard in the citadel who’s absolutely certain that I spent the entire night in his chambers.”_

_Morgana smiled, looking impressed. “That’s not an easy spell. You’re improving quickly.”_

_“You have taught me well, my Lady,” Kara said with pride._

_“What will you do here, Kara?” Morgana asked, sober and worried._

_“I will bide my time until I can be of use to you again,” Kara said fervently. “One day soon, when you have wiped the Pendragon scum from this earth and reclaimed your kingdom, you will have your revenge on Sarrum as well. I will be your agent then. Sarrum is a suspicious man by nature, but he practically raised me. He believes me to be loyal to him and him alone. But my aims are yours, Morgana. And together we will punish him for what he has done to us and to our kin.”_

_Morgana gripped Kara’s arm tightly. “Be safe, Kara. And stay true to yourself, whatever you do.”_

_“I will, my Lady. I will not allow myself to be controlled again,” Kara said, covering Morgana’s hand with her own and squeezing. “Now you must go. Follow the path until it forks and then go left. It will take you to a door in the western wall that leads to tunnels. Two rights and a left, the middle fork, and another left. You’ll come out in the forest. Head north and don’t stop. I will see to it that you aren’t followed.”_

_“May the Goddess be with you, Kara,” Morgana said. Aithusa limped to her side, whining, and she leaned on him and patted his head. “We will meet again.”_

_“I will await your orders, my Lady.” Kara dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “I am but your humble servant.”_


	10. Chapter 10

Raime grumbled under his breath, spouting off as many of his master’s most unflattering qualities as he could possibly think of as he stalked down the corridor. And then he tripped over the trailing end of the invisibility cloak that refused to stay entirely in his arms and he cursed that too, just for good measure.

The Lower Priests hadn’t even looked up from what they were doing when Raime had entered their workshop and it had taken him ten minutes just to get someone’s attention. Once he had it, they had talked and talked and talked at him, so enthusiastic about their great and wonderful new invention, for another ten minutes before he had managed to escape with the invisibility cloak that Merlin had sent him there for. Raime had already been annoyed at Merlin’s blatant dismissal of him, but dealing with the Lower Priests was always an ordeal and now he was just downright angry.

How dare Merlin just blow him off like that? He may be the king and a very busy man with important matters of state to attend to, but Mordred was his friend and wasn’t he important too? Didn’t it matter that something was up with him? Hell, _Raime_ was Merlin’s friend! Or at least Merlin had said so. Didn’t friends listen to each other when they had important things to say? But no, he just sent Raime off to fetch and carry and do servant things without listening to a word that came out of his mouth. It wasn’t fair!

There was something wrong with Mordred. Raime didn’t know what it was, but something about Mordred’s behavior was definitely off and it had something to do with that Kara girl. Mordred would never have just suddenly changed his mind about Cecily; he loved her! And even if he had changed his mind where he and Cecily were concerned, he would never have been so tactless about the whole thing. Somehow all of this was Kara’s fault, Raime was certain of that. But he didn’t have any proof and he couldn’t just go around accusing people of unspecified wrongdoing without at least _some_ kind of proof.

Raime almost didn’t see Cecily until he had walked right past her. She was tucked into a recessed alcove with a window that overlooked the meadows by the training fields. She didn’t seem to be actually looking at anything, though, just staring blankly as she absently twirled the end of her braid around her finger. Raime backtracked.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you alright? You ran off pretty fast earlier.”

She looked up, startled. “I’m fine,” she said with something that was probably meant to be a smile but wasn’t quite.

“Are you sure?” Raime asked. “Because that thing with Mordred and the new girl was pretty harsh. I can’t believe that he would just—”

“They clearly care about each other a lot,” Cecily said. “If they had something before and they want to take it up again, I would never want to get in the way of that. Mordred deserves to be happy, no matter who he’s with.”

“But he was happy with you!”

“Well, he’s _happier_ with her,” she snapped, her good will wearing thin. “Besides, there was never anything between me and Mordred. Not really, at least. I mean, I thought maybe there was, but he never promised me anything. Maybe I just misread the signals or something.”

“No!” Raime said. “You didn’t misread anything! There’s no way Mordred would just stop caring about you in one day. He couldn’t; he loves you!”

“Raime,” Cecily said, sounding pained. “Please just...stop. It’s not me that he’s interested in, and that’s fine. I wish him and Kara all the best, really.”

“But he’s not—”

“I need to get to the training field.”

Cecily turned to leave. Raime watched her go, at a complete loss. Did no one in this entire citadel actually listen to him when he said things? Was everyone around him deaf and blind that they couldn’t see that something weird was going on with Mordred? It wasn’t until Cecily was already out of sight that he remembered that Merlin had asked him to tell her about their trip to the Cauldron. He called Cecily’s name, running after her, but she was already out of sight.

Instead, he rounded a corner and caught a glimpse of blue skirt and white shawl turning down a side corridor, the one that led to the mages’ barracks. Raime recognized that outfit; it was the one that Kara had been wearing earlier that day. Without stopping to think on whether or not it was a good idea, Raime ran after her, leaning around the corner to see where she was going.

She stopped in front of a door halfway down the hall, the one that Raime was pretty sure was Mordred’s, and took the time to look further down the hallway to make sure that no one else was about. Raime ducked back to make sure that she didn’t see him as she turned to look his way.

Why would she care if anyone saw her? Everyone knew she was Mordred’s friend. Very suspicious behavior, Raime decided. She was obviously hiding something and _someone_ needed to find out what it was. Luckily, Raime happened to have a fully functioning invisibility cloak in his hands.

He threw it around his shoulders, the fine, thin fabric falling around him in waves that shimmered ever so slightly. There was the strangest sensation, like a drop of icy water had just slithered down his spine, and Raime shivered. He glanced down at himself, but there was nothing different and he could still see himself. The Priests had said that it was functional, though, and who was he to question their good work? He shrugged and headed for the door that Kara had gone through.

She hadn’t closed it all the way behind her. Raime leaned close, trying to peer through the crack, but he couldn’t see anything. He gently put his hand on the door and applied the barest of pressure, inching it further into the room and hoping that it wouldn’t squeak—it was times like this that made Raime wish that he had magic of his own; it would make sneaking around and spying on people much easier. Not that he did a whole lot of that.

Luck was on his side and the hinges didn’t protest the movement. He slipped into the room on careful, quiet feet and nudged the door closed again as slowly as he could.

Mordred was sitting on the edge of the bed in a tunic and trousers rather than his usual chainmail and Kara was perched very close beside him, holding his hand in both of her own. Mordred had that same bright smile on his face that he had earlier, an almost child-like sort of adoration shining in his eyes as he looked at her.

“You know that I’ve always loved you, don’t you, Mordred?” she was saying, her voice low and sweet. “Ever since we were kids. You loved me then too, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” he said quickly. “More than anything.”

“And you would have done anything for me, wouldn’t you?” Kara said, and Mordred nodded. “Everything was so simple back then. Just the two of us, together, happy and carefree. Do you remember?”

“I remember,” he said obediently.

The smile slid off of Kara’s face, something harder taking its place even as her voice stayed soft. “But we were torn apart,” she said. “Our home was destroyed and our people were slaughtered.”

Mordred stopped smiling too and he reached up to cup Kara’s cheek in his hand, looking like he wanted nothing more than to take away all of her pain. Kara pulled his hand down again and held it tight in hers.

“Do you remember that, Mordred?” she asked. “The way our camp burned? The screams as our friends and family were cut down where they stood?”

“Yes,” Mordred breathed out, transfixed by her.

“The knights of Camelot did that,” she said. “On the Pendragons’ orders.”

“Yes,” Mordred said again. But then he blinked hard and shook his head. “On _Uther’s_ orders,” he said. “That was Uther’s doing, not...not Arthur’s.”

Kara’s grip on Mordred’s hand tightened until Raime saw her knuckles go white. “The Pendragons took everything from us, remember?” she said insistently, though she never raised her voice past a low murmur. “They murdered your father. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

“No, of course I haven’t,” Mordred said, though he looked troubled, confused.

“Or how Arthur would have let you die?” Kara pushed. “He would have let his father execute you like he did your father. It was the Lady Morgana who saved your life then when Arthur would have killed you.”

Mordred was nodding now, his brow furrowed. “Yes,” he said, his tone dark. “Yes, he would have. And Emrys—he wanted me dead too.”

Raime stared at him, open-mouthed. In all the months that he had known them, he had never heard Mordred refer to Merlin solely by his Druidic title instead of his given name. That was something that strangers did, not the people who knew him well, and certainly not his closest of friends. The address was nearly as shocking as what was being said. Merlin and Mordred had not told Raime the full story of their time in Camelot and he knew that there was much history between them that he had not heard, but he knew this wasn’t right.

Kara pressed her lips to the back of Mordred’s hand. “You were lucky to escape Camelot with your life,” she said. “And just look at how far you’ve come! Your magic is stronger than they ever could have imagined. The Pendragons have always feared magic like yours; I imagine Arthur wishes now that he had left you to your fate all those years ago.”

Mordred shook his head again, his expression twisted like his head was paining him. “No,” he said. “Arthur saved me. He’s my friend.”

“That was before he knew that you had magic,” Kara said. “Before he knew how much of a threat you could pose. We know how Uther always responded to threats like you and me.”

“Must we dwell on past darkness?” Mordred asked suddenly. “I would rather speak of happier things in the here and now. I have so missed seeing you smile.”

Kara’s expression grew dark for a moment, angry and forbidding, but Mordred didn’t seem to notice as he tucked a lock of Kara’s hair behind her ear. Then she forced a smile on her face again and said, “Of course. I’m sorry. Let us talk of your work instead. Will you be returning to Camelot soon?”

“Yes,” Mordred said, smiling now as though he hadn’t been convinced of Arthur’s ill intent just a few minutes ago. “I will go back tomorrow morning to check in with Arthur and see if he has any more questions for us.”

“You could take me with you, couldn’t you?” Kara asked.

Mordred hesitated then. “I don’t know that they would be best pleased with me bringing strangers into the citadel,” he said reluctantly.

“But I’m not a stranger, Mordred,” Kara said, pressing closer against his side and threading her fingers through his. Her other hand went to Mordred’s wrist again, rubbing at the bracelet there, and Raime was almost certain that he caught a glimpse of gold in her eyes. “You’ve known me forever. You trust me, don’t you?”

All of Mordred’s hesitation evaporated in an instant. “Of course I do, Kara,” he said earnestly. “You know I do. It’s only that—”

“I would hate for you to leave me behind,” she said innocently, casting her eyes down in a way that was almost coy. “Like you did the last time.”

Mordred looked nothing short of devastated. “No!” he cried. “No, I’ll never abandon you like that again, Kara. I could never. I’m so sorry, Kara. You know that I didn’t want to leave you there. Please forgive me!”

“Does that mean that you will take me with you to Camelot?” Kara asked.

“Anything!” Mordred said.

“Then of course I forgive you, Mordred,” Kara said magnanimously. She brushed the curls off Mordred’s forehead and placed a kiss there. “You and me, together forever, remember? No matter how many times the Pendragons try to tear us apart.”

“You and me,” Mordred repeated.

Raime backed toward the door, groping blindly for the handle. He yanked it open as soon as he found it, too horrified to care if they noticed something strange. He tripped over the hem of the cloak as he sprinted down the corridor, but he kept his feet and ran on.

 

* * *

 

 

_Kara threw her pack on the nearest unoccupied table. She knocked a mostly empty tankard to the floor in the process, but she was too angry to care at the moment. Another of her missions was over and done with, everything having gone without a hitch. Another camp full of magic users slaughtered because of her. Honestly, she didn’t mind all that much—most of them had been cowards anyway, traitors to their kind who refused to stand up for themselves or their kin—but there had been some fighters this time and she hadn’t been able to save them without giving away her true loyalties._

_It wasn’t the first time that it had happened. It had been seven months since she had helped Morgana escape from Sarrum’s hold and Kara had been sent on four infiltration missions in that time. There was always someone with a spine in those refugee hideaways, someone who hadn’t grown up with the Druid’s toxic influence to weaken their minds and their resolve._

_A tankard dropped onto the table in front of her, the contents sloshing over the lip onto the table. Kara sent the clumsy serving wench a dark look and the girl scurried back to the bar in a hurry. Kara took the drink anyway, knowing that she wouldn’t be charged for it. She was about to down it and call for another when something caught her ear from across the noisy tavern._

_“Good riddance, I say,” a large-bellied, red-faced man was saying very loudly to his audience of rapt drunkards. “I still think Sarrum shoulda killed her when he had the chance, but it’s no matter now, innit?”_

_Kara left her drink behind and crept closer, slipping easily through the crowd of oblivious tavern-goers._

_“One of her own did our job for us!” he was saying, raising his tankard high and scratching his belly. “If the magics wanna kill each other off, well then I say more power to ‘em! Less work for us, eh?”_

_A cheer went up around him, people shaking their fists in the air and shouting their agreement. Kara shoved a man aside when his gesticulating fist nearly hit her in the face and stalked toward the speaker, who was basking in the attention and didn’t see her coming._

_“Who are you talking about?” Kara asked and the crowd went quiet around her, everyone taking a step back as recognition hit them. The fat man to whom she had directed her question paled when he caught sight of her but he didn’t speak immediately. “I asked you a question,” she said sharply._

_The man gulped but smiled around at his audience, trying to look less frightened than he was. “Wot, you mean you haven’t heard? You been livin’ under a rock?”_

_Kara had a dagger in her hand and pressed against the man’s cheek before anyone had registered that she had moved from her spot. “Speak now or lose your tongue,” she hissed in his ear._

_“Orright, orright!” the man shouted. Kara released him and he rubbed at his face, muttering, “Bloody damn crazy bint!” She raised her weapon again and he flapped his hands in a panic._

_“It’s that witch the king had locked up!” he said quickly. “That one with the dragon. The one wot escaped a few months ago.”_

_“What about her?” Kara asked._

_“She’s dead!”_

_Kara nearly dropped her knife. She shook her head. “No, she isn’t,” she said stubbornly, refusing to believe it._

_“A rider came through with the news a few days ago,” the man said. “Caused a big stir in court. I thought everyone woulda heard ‘bout it by now.”_

_Kara had been out of contact for over a week, worming her way into the trust of the higher-ups at the magic users’ camp so that she could find a way through their protective enchantments to let Sarrum’s warriors in. She had come straight here after the raid, only stopping at a stream for a moment to clean her weapons of blood before going for a much needed drink._

_She cast a look at all the people around her, each one eyeing her with obvious fear and caution. Many of them were nodding, though, corroborating the man’s claim. Morgana was dead and they all knew it._

_“Who did it?” Kara demanded, rage tinging the edges of her vision with red and making her magic surge through her whole body with a strength that she had rarely felt before. She kept a white-knuckled hold on her dagger, barely restraining herself from burying it in the fat drunkard’s throat. “Who is responsible for killing her? Was it Pendragon?”_

_“Not him,” he said, shaking his head and making his jowls flop around his thick neck. “He was there, surely, but it wasn’t him wot killed her. No, it were some other sorcerer wot done her in.”_

_Kara frowned, thinking she had misheard. “What?”_

_“Yeah, yeah, it were that bloke from that magic kingdom,” he said, warming up to his tale once more. “Can you imagine? A whole kingdom all full o’ the little beasts! And I hear none o’_ them _much liked that witch neither. She went to them for support and they sent her packing!” He barked a laugh, the others laughing along with him now that it didn’t seem like Kara was going to rip anyone’s throat out. “There was this big battle, ya see, with her and them and Camelot and all of ‘em.”_

_“Pendragon should have kill him too,” another man said, downing half his drink in one go. “That sorcerer that killed her. Two birds with one stone, eh?”_

_The crowd roared its approval again but Kara barely heard them._

_A sorcerer had killed Morgana. She had been struck down by one of her own. An entire kingdom of magic users and they had sent her away. How_ dare _they turn their backs on her when all she had done was fight for their right to live freely and without fear for their lives! Morgana had fought tirelessly for the sake of all magic users, so that they might live free of the tyranny of the Pendragon line._

_Morgana had died in that pursuit, fighting to bring Arthur Pendragon to justice for his family’s crimes, and Kara would not let her have died in vain. She would find a way to continue Morgana’s noble work, no matter what she had to do or how long it took. One way or another, she would kill Arthur Pendragon and avenge her mistress._


	11. Chapter 11

Merlin ran a damp cloth over Aithusa’s flank, his movements gentle but thorough. The young dragon’s new scales were coming in stronger now that he had proper nutrition, but there were still spots that were tender and flaky. He gave a full body shiver like a cat, his tail thumping against the ground, and he butted his head against Merlin’s hip with a growl that Merlin knew by now was meant to convey appreciation. Merlin patted his head with his free hand and smiled down at him fondly.

“Don’t worry, Aithusa,” he said. “We’re going to make everything right again. Just a few more days.”

Aithusa growled again, laying his head down on his paws as Merlin turned back to his grooming and examination. He wanted to make sure that Aithusa was fit for the journey; he wasn’t a very strong flyer thanks to the break in his wing that had never healed properly and he was still weak. He tired easily, even though it had probably been a year since he had escaped captivity. He would likely end up walking most of the way to the Cauldron alongside the horses with short flights to give his legs a rest, and Merlin wanted to be certain that he could handle it.

The door to the Roost crashed open, startling them both, and Raime came storming in with an uncharacteristic scowl on his face.

“There you are!” he said very crossly. “I have been looking for you everywhere! No one seemed to be sure where you were, and finally Sir Galahad told me you were down here. Where the hell have you been? Did you even sleep last night? Because you missed dinner and you weren’t in your chambers practically all evening!”

Merlin gaped at him, more than a little bit taken aback at the tirade. It wasn’t unlike his manservant to scold him on occasion—no more than it had been for him to scold Arthur, at least—but Raime seemed rather more upset than the situation warranted.

“I was out late taking care of things I had missed while we were in Ealdor,” he said. “Correspondences and such. I didn’t get back to my rooms until late, but I ate in the council chambers and I did get some sleep eventually. No need to panic over it.”

“I have been trying to find you since yesterday afternoon,” Raime said accusingly.

“Sorry?” Merlin said, putting away his cloth and hoisting his travel pack on his shoulder. “I’ve been a little busy. I’ve sort of got some important things to do. Did you tell Cecily that she’s supposed to be coming with me?”

“I got the message to her, yes,” Raime said, “but there’s something else that we need to talk about.”

“Can it wait until I get back from the Cauldron?” Merlin asked. He clicked his tongue at Aithusa, who lumbered to his feet and followed him out the doors.

“No, Merlin, it can’t,” Raime said firmly, jogging a bit to keep up with Merlin’s longer strides. “There’s something wrong with Mordred.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Merlin asked, rummaging in his bag to check that he had packed enough cutlets for Aithusa, who trotted after him. “He looked perfectly fine when I saw him earlier.”

“Did you talk to him?” Raime asked.

“No, I didn’t have time.”

“Well, if you had then you would have noticed how weird he’s acting!”

“Weird like how?” Merlin asked, exasperated.

He smiled and nodded at the people in the courtyard who called out greetings to him but kept moving toward the Royal Stables; he wanted to get moving soon so they could get some travel in before the sun was too high in the sky and it started getting hot. He clicked his tongue at Aithusa again, pulling his attention away from the children who ran up and tried to pat him or hop on his back like he sometimes let them.

“Weird like he blew off Cecily yesterday!” Raime cried, hurrying ahead so that he could walk backwards in front of Merlin and look at him with wide, entreating eyes. “For some other girl!”

“You mean that Druid girl who showed up yesterday? Kara, right?” Merlin asked, stopping to acknowledge an old Druid man who bowed low when he caught sight of him. Then he ploughed on. “Ellison mentioned her. She’s an old friend of his from his camp. He said that Mordred had thought she was dead. It’s really great that they’ve found each other again.”

“Normally I would agree,” Raime said, “but this time I really don’t think it’s as great as it seems.” He tripped and nearly went sprawling over the cobblestones but Merlin caught him by the arm, pulled him back onto his feet, and kept on walking.

“Why would you say something like that?” he asked.

“Because she’s evil!”

Merlin burst out laughing. “Alright, first of all: I don’t think there’s any such thing,” he said. “Second of all: what on earth makes you think that?”

“She’s manipulating Mordred,” Raime said. “She’s enchanted him! He never would have forgotten about Cecily otherwise!”

They came within sight of the Royal Stables and Cecily was already waiting there for him with both of their horses saddled and ready. She waved to him and Merlin waved back. Then he turned to Raime, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, Raime, I appreciate you looking out for Cecily,” he said. “Really, I do. It’s very sweet and chivalrous and all that. But I think you’re overreacting. I know what it’s like to find someone you thought you’d lost forever. Romance just isn’t what’s on his mind right now. Mordred’s preoccupied with Kara, but that’s perfectly understandable and he’ll be come back around to Cecily in no time.”

“It’s not Cecily that I’m worried about,” Raime hissed. “It’s Mordred!”

“He’s a big boy, Raime,” Merlin said. “He can take care of himself. And so can Cecily. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a goddess to summon and a dragon to heal. Stay out of trouble until I get back!”

Merlin turned back to Cecily and took the reins she held out to him. “All set?”

“Ready when you are, sire,” she said.

Merlin quickly tied his pack onto Llamrei’s saddle and hauled himself onto her back, looking around to make sure that Aithusa was still with them. Once Cecily was properly mounted as well, he led the way to the city gates and out, heading northwest toward the peaks of the White Mountains just visible on the horizon.

They rode in comfortable silence for a while, the light clopping of horse hooves on soft ground a soothing counterpoint to the lollop of Aithusa’s uneven stride behind them. Merlin took the opportunity to let his magic unfurl from where he usually kept it tucked inside him, his awareness slipping out into his surroundings the way the Druids had taught him.

He had visited the Camp several times, both to hold council with the Druid elders on matters of state and also to learn all that he could from them about magic. They were only too happy to share their knowledge with him and Merlin had spent many an afternoon around their campfires, listening to their legends and their lessons, soaking up the intensely peaceful atmosphere that always seemed to accompany Druid camps no matter where they were situated.

His magic sank into the earth beneath him, brushing against all the plants and animals as they passed. Each living creature’s energy was a bright spot in the sixth sense that it offered him, though Aithusa’s presence was vibrant enough to drown out most of the smaller light forms in the vicinity. The deep, gentle ebb and flow of the magical currents all around him was calming, the feel of the earth’s own power calling out to him, tugging at him and being drawn in by him in turns.

By the time he came out of his almost-trance, the sun was high in the sky and it was time for them to stop and water the horses, and to give Aithusa a chance to rest. Merlin and Cecily ate their lunches cross-legged on the ground in a small clearing, both of them tossing Aithusa bits and pieces of their own meals along with the strips of meat that they had brought for him.

Aithusa took to the sky when they started up again, skimming the treetops above them, flying on ahead and circling back to them every few minutes or so. Merlin kept an eye on him whenever the leafy canopy allowed, half in concern and half simply pleased to see the little dragon experience the joy or free flight when he had been denied it for so long. Eventually Aithusa rejoined them on the ground, settling his tired wings against his sides as well as he could and taking up his position at the rear of the little traveling party once more.

It wasn’t until they stopped to make camp for the night, the two of them on logs around a small cooking fire and Aithusa curled up nearby with his head under his wing, that Merlin realized that Cecily had not said a single word all day. Now Cecily wasn’t the most talkative of all the friends Merlin had made in Carthis—truthfully that was a bit of a tie between Raime and Mordred, now that the latter had come out of his shell—but he she had always been good for some light conversation on outings like this. He had never known her to be so reticent, and a long look over the fire showed her to be pale and missing her usual contented demeanor as well.

“Are you alright, Cecily?” Merlin asked as he doled out bowls of the stew that he had made for them.

She looked up, startled. “I’m fine, my Lord,” she said.

Merlin frowned at her. “I don’t think you are. You’ve gotten pretty used to calling me by my name lately. You only get formal when we talk business or when there’s something on your mind. So what’s up?”

“It’s nothing, Merlin,” she said, though it still wasn’t entirely convincing considering she kept her attention firmly on the bowl in her hands but didn’t actually eat any of it, just spun her spoon around aimlessly. “Just some personal troubles. Nothing I would want to bother you with.”

“Cecily,” Merlin said, setting his bowl aside. “You know that I consider you a friend, right? And that you can talk to me about anything? Being the king doesn’t stop me from being a friend to you, and besides, I’m not even wearing the crown right now!”

Cecily laughed a bit. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

“I have had that particular accusation levied against me before, yes,” Merlin said with a smile. “Although, honestly, it’s been mostly by my mother. Now, come on. What is it that’s got you so preoccupied tonight?”

She sighed. “I don’t know, just… Have you ever thought that you had something—with someone, I mean—and then realized later that you were wrong and there wasn’t actually anything there at all and you might have just been making a fool out of yourself the whole time?” She said it all very fast, eyes still averted.

“With someone,” Merlin repeated. “You mean...romantically?” But she couldn’t mean romantically, not if she was talking about Mordred; there was definitely not _nothing there_ with those two.

“Yes,” she said, looking and sounding a bit miserable. She put aside her stew as though she wasn’t hungry anymore and pulled a dagger and whetstone out of her pack instead. “Or, at least, I thought so. But I was wrong. He is definitely not interested and I’ve just been reading into everything too much.”

Merlin was already shaking his head. “No,” he said. “No, you haven’t been reading too much into anything, I promise. Mordred is head over heels for you. I know that for a fact.”

“Well, obviously he isn’t,” Cecily said shortly, sharpening her knife with quick, short strokes. “Or else he wouldn’t be draped all over Kara and acting as though he’s never even seen my face before.”

Raime had said the same thing, that Mordred seemed to have forgotten about Cecily entirely. That wasn’t right. Mordred was a nice and caring person; even if he was distracted by something or someone else, he would have at least been tactful about it and acknowledged that he was otherwise occupied. He would still have shown some warmth towards the woman that he loved. But Raime and Cecily both told a very different story, one that made Merlin a little bit nervous.

Merlin had seen people forget about their loves before: Arthur had dismissed Gwen entirely when he was enchanted to love the Lady Vivian and hadn’t shown even the slightest inkling that he had previously sworn that she was the person he cared most about in all the world; and Gwen, when affected by Morgana’s cursed bracelet, had overlooked her love for Arthur in favor of old feelings for Lancelot made new again.

In the courtyard, Raime had insisted that Mordred was enchanted. Perhaps all of his strange behavior could be waved off with perfectly ordinary explanations, but if there was even a slim chance that maybe—

“ _Get down!_ ”

Merlin ducked just in time to feel the rush of air that meant a crossbow bolt had only barely missed the top of his head. He threw himself to the side as Cecily let loose a bolt of magic in the direction the shot had come from. Merlin rolled to his feet but stayed crouched low, tensed and alert, immediately scanning his surroundings for the threat. He couldn’t see anyone in the gloom of the trees when he strained his eyes past the circle of the fire’s light, but his extended senses told him that there was only one individual hiding out of view.

A wave of Merlin’s hand called forth a shield, bright and glittering gold in the night, to prevent any more long-distance attacks; if this person wanted them dead, he would have to come out into the open to move around the blockade. There was a rustling in the woods, leaves and underbrush crushed under a not-quite-careful-enough heel, and Merlin moved to stand beside Cecily, both of them with their hands raised in readiness and their eyes roving the tree line.

The assassin emerged from the woods to their left, creeping around the edge of the shield and pulling a throwing knife from the sheath strapped to his leg. One word from Merlin yanked the weapon out of his hand and another from Cecily threw the man off his feet. He hit the ground and rolled, coming up again near where Aithusa had made his nest for the night.

The dragon screeched, rearing up on his hind legs and flapping his wings wildly as he tried to keep the man from getting any closer. He nearly toppled over backwards in his distress, but the assassin did take several steps back—toward Merlin and Cecily—to avoid getting knocked over by the flailing appendages. As soon as the assassin turned back to face his targets, Cecily had her sword in hand and was rushing to meet him.

Merlin let her handle that for a moment while he focused on calming Aithusa down. It took him several tries to get close enough to touch; every time he approached Aithusa gave a pitiful cry and cringed back, simultaneously lashing out and trying to make himself as small as possible. Merlin spoke softly to him, reminding Aithusa who he was and that he meant no harm. In the end, it took an utterance in the dragon tongue, the language they shared in their souls, to calm him properly.

Merlin reached out to stroke Aithusa’s neck, scratching at the scales under his jaw the way that he liked best, and the dragon leaned forward to press his head against Merlin’s stomach in a manner that reminded him very much of a frightened child hiding in his mother’s skirts.

A gurgled cry drew Merlin’s attention back to the fight just in time to see Cecily pull her sword out of the assassin’s belly and let him crash to the ground. She was breathing heavily but didn’t seem to be injured any and she hurried over to him, looking at Aithusa with concern.

“Is he alright?” she asked. “He’s not hurt, is he?”

“No, he’s not hurt,” Merlin said grimly. “But I think it’s safe to say that whoever is sending these men after me is the same one who held him and Morgana captive.”

Aithusa might have nodded, though it was hard to tell with the position that he was in. Either way, Merlin petted him and murmured reassurances to him anyway. Cecily put a hand over her mouth, looking a bit sick.

“Cecily,” Merlin said, nodding to the assassin’s body. “Does he have a pouch on his belt? I would look myself, but...”

“No, you stay here with him. I’ll check.”

Cecily knelt down beside the body, examining it, and came back with a pouch in hand that was identical to the one that Merlin had taken off of his previous attacker. He opened it to confirm, feeling the odd sucking sensation emitted by the magic suppressing manacles, and Aithusa let out a whimper, immediately jerking away from him. Cecily let him press up against her instead, shushing him and patting his neck even as she gave Merlin an alarmed look.

“I guess that’s all the confirmation that we need about how this person managed to hold a powerful witch and a creature of pure magic captive for so long without getting himself roasted,” Merlin said, pulling the drawstring shut again and tying the pouch onto his own belt for safekeeping. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

“What about him?” Cecily jerked her thumb at the body, sprawled out in the middle of their little campsite.

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t much care. Roll him into the woods and let the animals get him. We need to reach the Cauldron by early afternoon tomorrow, and for that we need rest. I’ll set up a protective boundary for the night.”

“No,” Cecily said firmly. “I will. You will need your strength tomorrow.”

Merlin knew better than to argue with her when she used that tone. And besides, he had a feeling that she was right about that.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Kara took a moment outside the throne room to prepare herself before entering, reminding herself of what she was supposed to believe and feel and_ be _around these people. She let her chosen persona—the one that had for so long been the truth of her, before Morgana had opened her eyes—slide over her like chainmail until she knew that she could face Sarrum and take the orders that he threw at her no matter what they might be. She took one last deep breath and pushed the doors open, striding in with her head held high._

_Sarrum was sat upon his throne like always, flanked on all sides by his fiercest and most trusted warriors. They all nodded to her with the respect that her skill and her reputation called for. She stopped before the king and dropped to one knee, bowing her head low._

_“You sent for me, sire?”_

_“Yes,” he said. “I have a mission for you, Kara.”_

_“Have you located another camp for me to infiltrate, my Lord?” she asked, standing up once more._

_Sarrum shook his head. “Not this time,” he said. “Well, not exactly. I’m afraid this mission is a bit different than your standard fare.”_

_“I have done many tasks for you over the years, Sarrum. Whatever this is, I’m sure that I can handle it,” Kara said._

_“You have performed admirably, my dear,” Sarrum said, his fingers tapping on the arm of his throne in what Kara might have called a nervous gesture if he had been any other man. “But I warn you, the task that I set before you now is of a different sort. And on a much larger scale.”_

_Kara frowned at him. “I’m not sure that I understand what you mean.”_

_Sarrum leaned back in his seat, his face forbidding. “Surely you have heard of the fate that has befallen our erstwhile guest, the High Priestess Morgana Pendragon?” he asked._

_Kara had to consciously stop her hands from curling into fists at her side, instead forcing an approximation of a smile onto her face._

_“Of course, my Lord,” she said evenly. “A well-deserved end for such a vile creature.”_

_“Yes. One less witch to pollute this fair land,” Sarrum said. “If you’ve heard of her death, then you have also heard of the one responsible.”_

_“I know that she was struck down by one of her own,” Kara said, suppressing the rage she felt so that it wouldn’t be heard in her voice. She needed to keep her calm if she wanted to find out where this conversation was going. “A sorcerer from a land where magic rules. I hardly knew that such a foul place existed.”_

_“A heinous kingdom filled with the plague that is sorcery,” Sarrum growled. “A blot upon this realm! Their unholy art has long provided them with the strength to resist any attempt at cleansing their taint from our midst. For decades they have kept mostly to themselves, sparing the rest of us from having to tolerate their presence, but they have recently come into new leadership.”_

_Sarrum pushed himself to his feet and began to pace, prowling back and forth on the dais with all the grace of an angered bear. “They’ve a new king in Carthis,” he said. “A true Dragonlord.”_

_“A Dragonlord?” Kara repeated, startled. “But sire, I thought all the Dragonlords were wiped out by King Uther in the Great Purge.”_

_“All but one,” Sarrum corrected. “And that one happened to be Carthis’ long-lost crown prince. His son now sits upon the throne, and it is through him that we find our newest problem.”_

_“And what might that be?”_

_“The Great Purge all but destroyed the dragon race,” Sarrum said. “Uther left only one alive, but he did not manage to track down all the remaining_ eggs _. He didn’t bother to search more thoroughly, thinking them irrelevant because they cannot hatch without a Dragonlord to call forth the hatchling from its shell, but he did not count on the last Dragonlord having a son to carry on his gift.”_

_Sarrum stopped pacing and faced Kara squarely. “There are dragon eggs in the vaults of Carthis,” he said, his tone like a sledge hammer. “No one knows how many, but even one is unacceptable. This Dragonlord—this King Merlin Ambrosius—will no doubt seek to restore dragonkind by hatching these eggs. That cannot be allowed to happen. To that end, you will go to Carthis posing as a refugee fleeing magical persecution. You will infiltrate the palace vaults, find the eggs, and destroy them.”_

_“Sire, if this King Merlin poses such a threat, why not just have him killed outright instead of targeting the eggs?” Kara asked. “He is a sorcerer, after all. Surely the eggs are not the only things that make him dangerous.”_

_“Not by far,” Sarrum said, his hand settling reflexively on the hilt of the sword at his waist and gripping tight in his agitation. “He is a powerful warlock with the might of the Druids behind him. In just a few short months he has proven to be a charismatic ruler, swaying many a reluctant ally to his cause. His taint has spread even to those who oppose magic the most._

_“His evil has infected Arthur Pendragon,” he said, disdain in his voice. “The Pendragons have long been of the opinion that sorcery is an evil to be cleansed from this world, but this Merlin has Arthur Pendragon so under his spell that they claim to be_ friends _. Pendragon is changing the laws of Camelot because of this man, opening his borders to the scum, and I have no doubt that if left unchecked, the poison will only spread further. Rest assured that I will not allow this to continue.”_

_Kara gaped at him in outright disbelief. There was no way that Arthur Pendragon would simply change his mind on the matter of sorcery and open his kingdom’s doors to it, not after an entire lifetime of prejudice and genocide. He could not possibly expect that those with magic would simply forget everything that he and his father had done to their kind and return to their kingdom gladly. It was hypocrisy and arrogance at its finest._

_For him to claim_ friendship _with someone that he had so wronged was sickening, and even more so the warlock’s claim in return. A man who befriended his oppressor and murdered his own kin—he deserved to have a price on his head. Kara would kill him herself if she didn’t suspect that the job was already being done._

_Sarrum gestured to his most trusted henchmen, a renowned assassin called Albin, and the man stepped forward. “King Arthur has sent out word that he will be hosting a summit to argue his stance on magic in his kingdom and renegotiate his treaties, and I have received an invitation. Albin and I will be attending this summit, during which Arthur will have an unfortunate accident._

_“In the meantime,” he said, “you will be in Carthis, seeking out and destroying the last hope of saving the dragon race. I have sent others after King Merlin, but he is a difficult mark. If my agents fail to bring him down, then I want the next biggest threat eliminated. That is your task.”_

_Kara nodded. “I will not fail you, sire,” she said solemnly, kneeling once more._

_“Be sure that you don’t,” Sarrum said. “I will not see this realm succumb to the evils of sorcery and be overrun with the beasts it spawns. We cannot allow this sickness to spread any further than it already has.”_

_“I understand, my Lord. These men will get what they deserve,” Kara swore._

_She would do as she was bid and eliminate these eggs—this Merlin was a traitor to his kind and the thought of him with a horde of dragons at his back, virtually unstoppable by mortal men, was horrifying—but if an opportunity arose to take matters into her own hands, then she would not turn her nose up at it._

_The Lady Morgana had made it her life’s mission to end the Pendragon line and find justice for all the lives that they had taken, all the suffering that they had caused. If Kara had the chance to finish Morgana’s noble work, she would not hesitate._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter early cuz my family is celebrating 4th of July early and then going to a family reunion (SAVE ME PLEASE) and so I probably won't be on the computer much until next Tuesday. So here you go!

Arthur resisted the urge to slouch in his chair or toss the crown from his head in frustration, resigning himself to just gritting his teeth until they squeaked against each other. The air in the council chamber was thick and stuffy from so much time with the doors firmly shut and all the hot air that was coming out of its occupants, but they had not made much progress. So far it had been a lot of veiled comments and discreetly pointed fingers, which Arthur couldn’t do much about without calling out individuals and causing even more offense.

“For one kingdom to have a monopoly on a skill or trade while the others languish in its absence is not to be tolerated,” Odin was saying for the sixth time in new but similar words. “And it is even more deplorable for one kingdom to employ such tradesmen beneath its own laws and without the knowledge of her allies.”

“For the last time, Odin, I did not knowingly employ anyone,” Arthur said, without much hope of actually being heard this time. “What Merlin did for Camelot he did of his own volition and without sanction of the crown.”

“And yet you do not condemn him for his treason,” Odin shot back. “Instead you laud him as a hero and tear down decades of your father’s work in an instant. I suppose we should have expected such treachery from you, considering the acts you’ve committed in the past, but—”

“And what acts would those be?” Sarrum asked, leaning forward on the table. “If you speak at all, you should speak plainly.”

“Yes, Odin,” Annis said. “There is nothing to be gotten from conversations held at cross-purposes.”

“As if you don’t know exactly what sort of acts I mean,” Odin sneered at her. “Your husband was lost on the end of Pendragon’s blade just like my son was. The man pays no heed to—”

“I hold no bitterness over Caerleon’s death,” Annis said. “And I do not let my grief for him cloud my judgment of the matters at hand. How long has it been since Orion’s passing? Thirteen years? Fourteen?”

“The time passed means nothing,” Odin snarled. “His blood remains on Arthur’s hands!”

“And it will never wash off,” Arthur cut in. “I know that. I did not want to kill your son, but he backed me into a corner and refused to yield the duel. You know that, Odin, and you have known it since the day it happened. I gave Orion every opportunity to submit with his honor intact and he chose not to take that path. He chose to fight to the death, and yet you continue to blame me as if it were cold-blooded murder.”

“It was! You killed my son!” Odin shouted, banging his fist on the table.

Percival at Arthur’s back shifted, gripping the hilt of his sword in warning, and many of the knights around the room did the same. Arthur held up a hand to forestall them.

“Yes, I did,” he said simply. “And it was on your orders and your coin that my father met his end.”

Odin paled. Arthur had never retaliated after Uther’s untimely death; he must have assumed that the assassination had never been traced back to him. He sat back in his seat, eyeing the surrounding knights with much more caution.

“I would be well within my rights to have you arrested right here and now for what you did back then,” Arthur said.

A dull sort of hatred still burned in his chest when he remembered the weight of his father in his arms, the way his chest hitched, the heat of his blood soaking Arthur’s shirt. Had it not been for the debacle with the old sorcerer—whom he now knew to have been Merlin in disguise—Arthur would have ridden out against Odin with an army at his back, but ultimately he was grateful that he had not taken that path; it would only have caused more violence, more casualties, more ill-will between kingdoms who should have stood together.

“But I will not do that,” he declared. “We have both lost much at the other’s hand. We need not lose any more. I have put my anger and my grief to rest, Odin, and I beg you to do the same. There are far more important matters at hand than a decade-old feud that should never have been in the first place.”

Arthur pushed himself to his feet to address the room at large. “I know that the lot of us have not always been on the best of terms,” he said, his voice echoing around the chamber. “For any number of reasons, both political and personal. But I ask you now to put all that aside for just a moment and to come together with open minds. We need not be at odds if we simply place a little bit of faith in each other as fellow men—and women,” he added with a nod to Annis, who nodded back graciously.

“Faith?” Alined asked. “Bah! How can we trust a man who has lied about so many things and betrayed his own laws?”

“I did no such thing,” Arthur insisted. “I give you my word not only as a king, but as a knight of the realm and a man of honor. Whether or not you choose to believe that that  _ means something  _ is up to you, but I give it freely. I tell you once more that I did not sanction the use of magic in my kingdom, whether for defensive purposes or for use against my enemies.”

“You expect us to believe that you truly had no knowledge of your servant’s doings?” Bayard asked, rapping his knuckles against the tabletop.

“No, I didn’t. He went to great lengths to keep his activities from me,” Arthur said. “I was blind to his secrets and his half-truths. I will admit to being taken for something of a fool, but I will not say that my trust in him was misplaced because it wasn’t. He has always been and continues to be my staunchest ally, one who has saved my life and defended my kingdom of his own will too many times to count, and I cannot repay that debt with ignorance and prejudice against his kind.”

“He’s a sorcerer!” Odin said. “There’s a reason that Uther strove to wipe them out. They’re dangerous creatures, far too dangerous to be allowed to live.”

“You would kill a man for something he hasn’t done? For his potential alone?” Arthur asked, putting his palms on the table and leaning toward him “You would take an innocent man, one who has done nothing to harm anyone, and strike him down because he might one day in the near or distant future do  _ something _ ?”

Odin shifted in his seat, looking a tad uncomfortable with the bluntness of the question. “Those with magic have a power that cannot be curtailed,” he argued stubbornly. “And they exercise it over other men’s lives. What right have they to such a power?”

“Can the same not be said of us?”

The other monarchs all around the table exchanged looks, some curious and others apprehensive.

“We are each of us the most powerful people in our respective kingdoms,” Arthur said, making sure to look each and every one of them in the eye. “We alone have the right to decide who in our kingdoms lives and who dies. We alone wield the ultimate authority over our subjects, and no one can challenge us. What right have  _ we _ to such power?”

“Our authority is God-given,” Bayard said.

“The divine right of kings,” Arthur agreed. “But what is a warlock’s power if not god-given? He is born with the ability inside him; he does not ask for it, he does not seek it out, he does not fight for the right to bear it. It simply exists within him, to be utilized how he sees fit, as we are born with our crowns waiting to be donned.”

“It’s not the same,” Alined said. “We as sovereigns are beholden unto our people. Sorcerers are beholden to no one.”

“Do they not hold the same responsibility to their fellow man that the rest of us do?” Arthur asked, sweeping an all-encompassing gesture around the room, getting nods from Percival and Elyan and the rest of his men. “We as human beings must each do the best we can by those around us, and sorcerers are no different in that regard.  They are men and women like you and me, simple people with gifts above and beyond the average. They must choose what to do with those gifts, as must we all.”

“Your analogy is flawed,” Odin said. “Magic is a corruptive force, we all know that. Those who use it soon lose themselves to its darkness.”

“Power of any nature corrupts,” Arthur said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Whether it be magical or political, physical or financial, or any other sort. We all fight against the temptation to use our authority for our own selfish gain, and none of us here are innocent of that sin. But for the most part we resist, and we work for the sake of our people. Why is it so difficult for us to believe that a sorcerer could do the same?”

No one answered him. The room was very quiet, all eyes on him. He let the question settle into their minds for a long moment as the silence stretched.

“Can a man in a position of power not care for those beneath him?” he asked. “Can he not seek to honor and protect them? Is it not possible for a man with power to use that power for the betterment of those around him?”

“I suppose it is,” Annis said, watching him with eyes narrowed, though she did not sound skeptical.

“You all take Merlin’s dishonesty as a sign of a malevolent nature,” Arthur said. “You take his lies as a symptom of the degeneration of his spirit. And yet his actions speak only of loyalty to his king and his friend. He used whatever skills he had at his disposal—skills which were innate, which he has possessed for the entirety of his life—to defend his home and his loved ones. Would you not have done the same in his position? I know I would have,” Arthur admitted.

“As would I,” Annis said.

Arthur nodded to her in thanks and she smiled back, a twinkle in her eye. He turned back to the rest and took in their expressions, ranging from considering to uncomfortable.

“There is no evil in sorcery,” Arthur said, “but in the hearts of men. There are good kings and there are tyrants. So are there sorcerers who use their power for the benefit of all and those who use it to further their own ends. It is injustice of the lowest kind to blame an entire people for the acts of a small fraction of their number. And I will not participate in such injustice any longer.”

“Well said, young Pendragon.”

Arthur looked to Sarrum, startled. Of all those around him, Sarrum was not the one that he had expected to voice his support on this particular subject. Sarrum smiled at him, seeing his surprise.

“I may not be fond of magic,” he said, “but I am not immune to logic and reason. You argue your point well. I can acknowledge that.”

“Uther certainly trained you well in the art of rhetoric, if nothing else,” Bayard said. “Though I doubt he ever expected you to put those skills to this purpose.”

“My father was blind to reason where magic was concerned,” Arthur said, pulling out his chair and taking a seat once more. “He blamed the whole of magic for the acts of one woman—or, more accurately, for his own ignorance and arrogance—and he would not be swayed from his stance, no matter the evidence put before him. I will not allow myself to be so unmoving when there are innocent lives on the line.”

“You would rather be easily swayed by those who whisper in your ear?” Odin countered, though the argument was halfhearted. It sounded like he grasping at straws, looking for any point that he could use as an outlet for his resentment of Arthur.

Arthur shook his head. “I made the choice to legalize magic after months of careful deliberation. I have looked at it from every angle and every perspective and come to this decision with a clear mind and my own sound judgment.”

“And, if you will recall, Odin,” Annis said, “the one you seek to implicate was no longer in a position to whisper in his ear when the decision was made.”

“No, he was off gaining more power for himself,” Bayard muttered.

“Merlin did not ask for that either,” Arthur told him. “He took up that mantle because he had to.”

Alined scoffed, as if the thought of anyone  _ not _ wanting to be king was patently ridiculous.

“I understand your skepticism,” Arthur said. “And I can’t expect you to trust Merlin’s motives on my word alone. I urge you to speak with him yourself. Honestly, I challenge anyone to spend any real amount of time with Merlin and come out of it thinking him a villain.”

“He accused me of conspiring to assassinate you,” Bayard pointed out.

“And he played a fool in my court and juggled eggs,” Annis said wryly. “He’s a versatile man.”

“He is certainly that,” Arthur laughed. “But his intentions are always good. And if you would recall, Bayard, someone  _ was _ trying to assassinate me and Merlin took the poison so that I would not have to. In everything he does, Merlin seeks peace, as do I. As do we all,” he added with a pointed look around the table. Annis met his eyes steadily, as did Bayard. Alined cringed a bit in his seat when Arthur’s gaze landed on him and Odin simply cast his eyes upon the table.

“We all wish the best for our kingdoms and our peoples,” Sarrum said. “We may not always agree with each other’s methods, but our aims are identical.”

“Really, it’s only when we come into close contact with each other that we butt heads,” Arthur said. “Too many strong personalities in the same room for too long will always lead to unnecessary friction. On that note, I believe that we have shouted at each other enough for one day, don’t you? I think it best if we adjourn for the evening and reconvene tomorrow morning for further discussion.”

“I will be glad of some fresh air,” Annis said. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Arthur stood and held out a hand to her, which she took with a gracious smile as the rest of the monarchs hauled themselves to their feet as well. “Thank you for your support,” Arthur said. “It is invaluable.”

“I believe you to be an honorable man, Arthur Pendragon,” she said. “I believe that your intentions are good. And from what I have seen of Merlin Ambrosius—”

“When he wasn’t performing tricks in your banquet hall, you mean?” Arthur put in with a chuckle.

Annis didn’t laugh, but there was an amused glint in her eye anyway. “From what I have seen of him,” she continued, undeterred, “I believe that he is an honorable man as well. Any man who has earned such loyalty from you deserves to have at least the benefit of the doubt from the rest of us.”

“Thank you,” Arthur repeated. He bent to kiss her hand and said, “I wish you a pleasant evening, your Majesty.”

Annis nodded to him and took her leave, seeming to glide as her long gown swept over the floor behind her. Arthur stooped to gather up his notes and miscellaneous papers, tapping them into a manageable stack, and turned to head out as well but found himself face to face with Sarrum.

“Sarrum,” he said. “Is there something you need?”

“I simply wished to congratulate you on your performance today,” Sarrum said. “This is not an easy group to wrangle. You have done Uther proud.”

That got a smile out of Arthur; there were not many things about his father that Arthur still had respect for, but if there was one thing that Uther had been good at, it was political maneuvering. To hear that he had inherited something from his father that didn’t stem from hatred and intolerance was a relief.

“Thank you. There were many lessons my father imparted on me, and I strive to honor as many of them as I can. Although I know that he would strongly disapprove of the purpose to which I apply those lessons now.”

“Every son grows up to shame his father in some way,” Sarrum said with a creaky laugh. “That does not mean that he is wrong to do it. The old must fall and the young rise. That is always the way of it, and who are we to stand in the way of progress when it comes?”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Arthur said. “I will admit, I thought you would put up more resistance to the idea of re-allowing magic.”

“A year ago, I would have said the same thing about you,” Sarrum said. “And yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” Arthur confirmed, nonplussed but nodding.

Sarrum clapped him on the shoulder.

“I would like to dine with you, my friend,” he said. “We have never had the chance to converse one-on-one; all of my dealings were with Uther. But you are your own man now and you are your own king. I would know you as I did your father.”

“It would be an honor, Sarrum,” Arthur said. “There is a small solar in the west wing which would serve nicely, if you would like to meet me there shortly. I will have dinner brought up to us.”

“I look forward to it,” Sarrum said heartily. He clapped Arthur’s shoulder again, smiled, and took his leave.

Arthur stared after him for a long moment, brow furrowed. The man that he was seeing was nothing like the reputation that preceded him: cold, shrewd, ruthless, and unshakably bigoted. Annis had been right to caution him; Sarrum was up to something, there was no doubt about that.

Arthur absently fingered the communication charm around his wrist, rubbing his thumb over the runes engraved in its metal surface.

Arthur might strive to see the best in people, to give them the benefit of the doubt in times of trouble, but he was no fool. A private meeting with a man whose ideology differed so greatly from his own and who was acting uncharacteristically accommodating? It reeked of a trap. If Sarrum had come here to lure him in, earn his trust, and then somehow engineer his death—most likely in some manner that would be difficult to trace back to him—then this was the perfect opportunity.

Arthur pressed the charm tightly to his skin and thought of Merlin, feeling the heat against his palm for three seconds, and then he set off for the solar.


	13. Chapter 13

The small party set off before the sun had truly breached the horizon, too unsettled to have slept for more than a few hours in shifts even within the confines of the cage of protective spells that Cecily had woven around them. Aithusa especially was restless and anxious, sticking as close to Merlin as he could manage at all times. Even as they traveled he stayed near enough for him to jostle Llamrei with his wings and for her to whicker at him in annoyance.

They reached the edge of the Cauldron of Arianrhod when the sun was high in the cloudless sky and starting its descent, though they had to slow their pace when the ground beneath them turned rocky and dangerous for the horses to traverse. Even from a distance Merlin could feel the immense magical presence that was the lake at the Cauldron’s center and he used it to orient them. It took them another two hours to reach it, finally cresting a rise to see the deceptively small and average-looking lake lain out before them and glistening in the sunlight.

They left their horses on the rise, untethered so they could roam and munch on the sparse grasses that had forced their way through crevices in the stones, and climbed the rest of the way down the treacherous slope on foot. Merlin stopped on the lake’s shore and closed his eyes, breathing deeply and sinking into the sensation of so much magic, as strong as the aura of the Isle of the Blessed but purer, untainted by the dark magic that had been perpetrated there.

“What now?” Cecily asked, her voice hushed as if she too could feel the sanctity of their surroundings.

Merlin turned to Aithusa and crouched down to be on a level with him. “Aithusa, you must enter the waters,” he said. “They will be the conduit for the Goddess’s magic, should she choose to heed my call. You don’t need to go far. Do you understand what we’re going to do?”

Aithusa bobbed his head and then bumped it against Merlin’s stomach. Merlin patted his neck for a moment, taking as much comfort as he gave with the gesture, and then nudged the dragon toward the shore. He went hesitantly, tapping his foreleg at the surface a few times in a very feline manner that made Merlin smile. But he eventually splashed out into the water, staying close enough to the shore that he was still stood on the silty bottom.

“Now we hope that this works like Kilgharrah thinks it will,” Merlin muttered, quietly enough that Aithusa wouldn’t hear. He closed his eyes, reaching deep into the warmth in the pit of his stomach and drawing it forth until it skittered along just beneath his skin, the force of it all barely contained. Then he raised his hands to the sky.

“ _ Gydenu, hὶere mec ond fulgӕe! Ágíeme þys héahgesceafte áwierdnesum geanbesetted uppan hine. Ar ond heofontungol sceal þurhswiþan! _ ”

His voice rang out strong and clear, echoing around the stony outcrops and sheer canyon walls and resounding back to them a dozen times until it sounded like a whole chorus of pleas. The magic inside him swelled and crested, overflowing from the fragile container that was his mortal body and reaching out over the water to meet the center of the Cauldron’s power.

A light began to grow over the water, starting out as a mere pinprick and then surging out and out until the whiteness of it forced them to turn away or risk being blinded by the its radiance. A whisper sounded in Merlin’s ears, the words too soft to make out but the intent clear: the White Goddess had heard his invocation and she would grant his request.

A piercing cry sounded from the midst of the glow where Aithusa had been engulfed, but it did not sound pained. Merlin didn’t know how long the moment lasted, how far each second stretched, but soon Aithusa’s hoarse cry became fuller, less hoarse, ending in a proper roar the likes of which Merlin had never heard from him before.

Slowly the light began to dim, almost imperceptibly at first and then leeching away quickly until there was nothing left but the blinding afterglow. Merlin and Cecily blinked furiously and rubbed their eyes, trying to clear their vision, and looked out over the lake again. There was nothing and for a moment Merlin thought that maybe the spell had gone wrong, that something had happened and Aithusa was gone, but then a bright form erupted forth, water spraying high into the air.

Wings unfurled that were straight and whole, the bones unbroken and the tightly stretched skin gossamer thin and no longer lined with scars. Pearlescent scales glittered in the sunlight, sleek and smooth now where once they had been dull and patchy. Aithusa stepped free of the water on legs that no longer shook and threatened to collapse and he seemed to be half-again the size that he had been before. He reared his magnificent head back and roared to the sky with the voice that had so long been denied to him.

Cecily laughed freely and punched the air, crowing their success. Merlin simply stared, awestruck and overcome. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess and her benevolent presence brushed across his mind, bolstering him and soothing his weariness.

Wind buffeted them as Aithusa launched himself into the sky, gliding around the Cauldron on sturdy wings and circling back around to land gracefully before them once more. He shook himself like a dog, sprinkling them with water, and he laughed.

“Oh Emrys!” he said in a ringing voice that didn’t yet have the full depth of maturity but held its promise nonetheless. “Merlin, thank you! I can never repay you for this!”

Merlin shook his head, wiping tears of joy from his eyes before they could fall. “No, Aithusa. You owe me nothing,” he said. “I am simply righting the wrong that was done to you. And I will never be able to fully atone for allowing it to come about in the first place.”

Aithusa settled his new wings along his sides and peered at Merlin, no longer small enough to need to look up at him. “I don’t blame you for any of that,” he said. “No more than I blame Kilgharrah or even Morgana. I went off on my own when I was too young and too bold for such a journey. Misfortune befell me, but that is no fault of yours.”

“Whose fault is it?” Cecily asked. “Who did that to you, Aithusa?”

“It was Sarrum,” he said.

“Sarrum of Amata?” Merlin asked, his blood running cold.

Aithusa nodded. “His men caught me in a net when I was out hunting and I couldn’t break free. Morgana came to find me when I didn’t return, but they threatened to slit my throat to keep her from fighting them. Sarrum chained us in cold iron, like the shackles that man had last night. He kept us locked in a pit for two years.”

“Two years,” Cecily breathed in horror.

Merlin’s hand went to the pouch at his belt, too aware of the damnable manacles it contained and how much harm could be done with them. He nearly tore it free and threw it aside, but he refused to defile such a sacred place with the vile devices. He would destroy them when he returned to Carthis.

“How did you escape?” Cecily asked. “If you and Morgana were both bound and weakened from a long imprisonment, how did you manage it?”

“We had help,” Aithusa told them. “There was a girl among Sarrum’s men, one who hated magic even though she possessed it herself. Sarrum used her to find groups of magic users fleeing his persecution and destroy them from the inside.”

“If she hated magic so much then why did she help you escape?” Merlin asked.

“Morgana talked her round,” Aithusa said. “She talked all the time. There was nothing else she could do and it kept us both from losing our minds. Whenever Kara was on guard, Morgana talked to her and told her stories. Eventually Kara listened and she became Morgana’s most devoted servant, championing magic and convinced that the Pendragons were the root of all the world’s ills. She released us and stayed behind in Amata so that she could help Morgana overthrow him once she had won Camelot.”

“Wait,” Cecily said slowly. “Kara, you said?”

Aithusa nodded. Merlin wasn’t sure for a moment what Cecily meant by the question. Then he frowned at her.

“Not Mordred’s Kara,” he said. “Surely not.”

“She did say that she came from Amata,” Cecily said.

“And she’s from a Druid camp that Uther’s men raided,” Merlin remembered. “I don’t know why she would have hated magic to start with, but she certainly has every reason to want Camelot and the Pendragon line destroyed.”

“Why is she in Carthis then?” Cecily asked, pulling her braid over her shoulder so she could tug anxiously at the end of it.

Merlin shook his head, at a loss. “I don’t know.”

He remembered all at once the conversation that he had had with Raime before they left Carthis—if it could even be called such. Raime had been agitated, even angry when Merlin had not stopped to listen properly. He had said then that Mordred was acting strangely, that Kara had enchanted him, that she was  _ evil _ .

Merlin took to pacing, pulling at his hair as his thoughts raced.

If she had ill intent, then why would she target Mordred over anyone else? Mordred should have been the most susceptible to her manipulations even without magic, since he already trusted and cared for her. She shouldn’t have needed to ensorcel him unless she wanted something that he would not have given her freely.

Kara was a proponent of Morgana, someone who believed her dogma and fought for her cause. Morgana’s ultimate goal had been the destruction of the Pendragon line. It stood to reason, then, that Kara wanted Arthur dead. And Mordred, out of everyone in Carthis, was the only one beside Merlin himself with unlimited and unquestioned access to Camelot and her king. If Mordred had refused to take Kara there of his own will, she could have turned to magic to make him more tractable.

But Kara would not have  _ known _ that Mordred was in Carthis to start with, so she must have been there on Sarrum’s orders for some other purpose. All of the attacks, the assassins that had dogged Merlin’s heels so closely over the last few months, they had all come from Amata, but Kara must have had other orders.

Whatever they were, she seemed to have abandoned them in light of the opportunity that Mordred’s access to Camelot presented her to fulfill her own agenda. An agenda which no doubt coincided with Sarrum’s, at least where Arthur was concerned. If Sarrum was targeting Merlin, then he had no intention of changing his stance on magic no matter how eloquently Arthur spoke at his summit. He had not gone to Camelot in good faith, which meant that Arthur was in danger—on two fronts, it seemed.

Heat blazed to life on the sensitive skin of Merlin’s inner wrist, wrenching him from his frantic thoughts and stopping him in his tracks. He shook down his sleeve to stare at the glowing charm, holding his breath and counting.

Three seconds. Not simply a summons then.

“Arthur’s in danger,” Merlin said. “Aithusa, I want you to go back to Carthis. Find Ellison and tell him what’s going on. Tell him about Kara and the threat she poses, and that Mordred is under her spell and not in his right mind. Cecily, you’re coming with me to Camelot.”

“Right now?” she asked.

“Right now.” Merlin pulled the transportation crystal from underneath his chainmail, reassured by the thrum of its power beneath his fingers. “If Sarrum wants a war on magic, then he had best be prepared to face magic itself.”


	14. Chapter 14

Kara kept a tight hold on Mordred’s arm as the transportation spell dropped them at the edge of the woods within sight of Camelot’s gates, the howling winds kicking up the fallen leaves all around them before they ebbed. She didn’t let go even as she turned to stare into the trees, eyes wide and inscrutable.

“I haven’t set foot in this kingdom since I was ten years old,” she said. “The trees are different in Amata than they are here. They didn’t have any of the blue flowers that I always liked.”

 

_ Mordred held out a blue flower and she took it from him, smiling as she breathed in its scent. It couldn’t be part of their daisy chain, but it would look lovely in her hair. He tucked it behind her ear and she blushed. _

 

Mordred smiled at Kara and squeezed her hand. “We can come back and pick some later,” he said, relishing the idea. “A whole bouquet of them, if you like.”

“I wonder if they still grow in that meadow,” she said. “The one that we used to play in. Do you remember?”

 

_ He was running through a grassy field, hair whipping into his face. He passed Kara by and she shouted for him to wait. He did, and she tackled him to the ground. They rolled, laughing, and Mordred had never felt so happy. _

 

“I remember,” he said, putting an arm around Kara’s shoulders and pulling her close. “We had so much fun there.”

“The knights probably burned it down,” Kara said, blunt, “like they did our camp.”

 

_ Flames licked up the familiar red cloth and it crumbled to the ground, blackened and charred. Mordred coughed as the acrid smoke invaded his lungs, even more pervasive than the smell of blood. The clashing of swords was loud in his ears and he wanted to cover them, to block out the sound, but he didn’t dare let go of Kara’s hand. _

_ She said they needed to fight and fear made his heart pound in his chest and his palms sweat. People were dying, people that he knew and cared about. They were dropping like flies all around him, but he couldn’t move. Even when a knight in a red cloak brought the hilt of his sword down on Kara’s head and sent her crashing to the ground, Mordred couldn’t bring himself to fight. _

 

That fear came back to him now, worse for the lack of a true threat. He held onto Kara more tightly, terrified that he would lose her all over again, that she would fall and he wouldn’t be able to save her. They were in Camelot, after all, and there was no place more dangerous for people like them to be. There were knights just past the tree line at the gates, patrolling through the woods, searching for them, hunting them down like they always were.

A helpless anger flooded Mordred and he clenched his free hand around the hilt of his own sword. The knights of Camelot had gone on so many raids just like that one, had caused so much harm to so many people. They had slaughtered innocent men and women, had held children under the water until they stopped thrashing, and all without a second’s hesitation. They had robbed Mordred of his childhood home, of his family and his friends, and had destroyed the life that he should have led. It was their fault that Mordred and Kara had been torn apart, that they had lived their lives alone and in constant fear.

“I bet there’s nothing of it left,” Kara mused, still looking off into the woods that used to be their home. “It’s probably all gone forever.”

 

_ Mordred didn’t cry until two days after the attack, huddled for the night in the hollow beneath a fallen tree. His father wrapped a cloak tight around his shoulders and pulled him close but he shivered anyway, silent tears tracing their way down his cheeks as it finally hit him that he could never go home. There was nothing left to go back to, just ashes and bones and the memories that he was certain he was already forgetting. _

_ Even Kara was gone, dead on the ground, and it was his fault. He had let her stay behind to fight all by herself. They were supposed to stay together  _ always _ , that was what they had said, but he had broken that promise. And now he would always be alone without her by his side. It felt like some great beast had gnawed a hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be and even his magic could not warm him as it usually did. His father shushed him, whispering that it would be alright, but it wouldn’t be. It would never be alright again. _

 

Mordred pressed a kiss to the top of Kara’s head, grateful beyond measure that she was there with him. He had already lost everything else that he cared about; if he ever lost her—

 

_ Mordred was knocked back by a rock that came flying out of the ground toward him seemingly of its own accord and hit him in the gut. His coughing fit was interspersed with appreciative laughter and he took the hand that was offered to him gladly, letting Cecily pull him to his feet. _

_ “You’ve got to be quicker than that if you want to beat me,” she said with a very satisfied grin on her face. “You can’t rely on your strength alone, you know.” _

_ Mordred rubbed at his sore stomach, smiling. “So I’m learning,” he said. “I’ll get one up on you eventually.” _

_ Cecily laughed, her head thrown back and her blonde hair flashing like gold in the bright sunlight. Mordred’s breath, already scarce, caught in his throat. “Dream on,” she said, and Mordred knew then that she would be in his dreams tonight and every night after. _

 

Mordred let go of Kara. Something about having her in his arms didn’t feel right; she was too short, too slim. Her hair wasn’t the right shade. Kara turned to look at him and he was disappointed to find dark eyes instead of light ones.

Kara frowned at him. “What is it?” she asked.

Mordred put a hand to his head, suddenly confused, and the bracelet that Kara had given him jangled loosely around his wrist, the metal cold on his skin. It had been a token of her affections, so that he would never forget how much she cared about him. As if he could ever have forgotten that, forgotten  _ her _ . She was his oldest and best friend, the person that he had always cared about more than anyone else in the world.

She meant everything to him and always would.

When Kara held out a hand to him, Mordred took it gladly and without reservation.

“Come on. You have a job to do,” she said. “We have to find Arthur.”

 

_ Arthur dropped a thick stack of parchment into Mordred’s arms with a smile and said, “There you go.” _

_ Mordred stared down at them in disbelief. “What the hell is all of this?” he asked. “How many questions do you expect us to answer in one night?” _

_ “I need to know everything, Mordred,” Arthur said earnestly, his eyes bright and his jaw set. “If I am to do right by magic users, then I need to understand them and their craft. I’ve done so much harm by them, they deserve that much from me. I have spent my entire life being ignorant and hurting people because of it. And I can’t do that anymore. I want to do better, to  _ be _ better. For their sake. For yours and Merlin’s and everyone else’s.” _

_ Mordred would have hugged Arthur if his hands hadn’t been full. An upsurge of pride and admiration threatened to make his eyes well with tears, but he just smiled at Arthur so widely that it made his cheeks hurt. Arthur smiled back, small but undeniably genuine. _

 

Mordred couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, eager to find Arthur and help him in his latest endeavour. He was doing so much good in Camelot now, working so hard to make amends to the people he had harmed on his father’s orders and of his own will. He was a great man, and one of rare integrity, and Mordred had been proud to wear his red, if only for a short time.

He led the way toward the city gates, still holding Kara’s hand in his. The knights stationed at the city gates greeted him by name and waved him through without protest, though one or two of the more conservative of them still eyed him mistrustfully. He waved back at them jovially. None of them gave Kara more than a curious glance as she stuck close by his side.

People on the streets greeted him as he passed by and he called back to them, glad for the chance to see the friends that he had left behind when he had relocated to Carthis, even if a few of them were a bit wary of him with his secret now exposed. They didn’t hate him, though, like he had thought they would. The citizens of Camelot had proven his pessimism wrong and he could not have been more pleased by it.

The sun was just beginning to sink behind the castle turrets as they passed through the courtyard, throwing ever-lengthening shadows across the cobblestones and sending people scurrying back home to their suppers. The guards at the palace doors confirmed that the talks for the day had been concluded and the monarchs had dispersed, but none of them knew where Arthur had chosen to take his evening meal and so Mordred headed toward his chambers with Kara in tow.

Arthur’s chambers were empty when they reached them, everything perfectly neat and tidy now that Merlin wasn’t the one in charge of cleaning them. Kara looked around with her lip curled in disgust.

“So much wealth and finery,” she said, running her fingers over the plush red velvet of the hangings on Arthur’s four-poster bed. “All of this for one man while the rest of us live in rags, grubbing in the dirt.”

 

_ Even through the haze of pain from the wound in his arm Mordred couldn’t help but notice how grand his surroundings were. The Lady Morgana’s chambers were filled with silks and velvets, everything bright and colorful and pristine. He had never seen so many fine and glittering things in one place before, not in his entire life. He had only ever known the earth, simple tools, course fabrics whose colors had been dulled with time and repeated washings in cold water that he fetched himself from the stream. _

_ The Lady Morgana’s hands were gentle as they brushed over his sweaty face, her palms soft and uncalloused. She had never worked a day in her life, had done nothing to earn everything that she had been given. None of them had, these spoiled royals and noblemen sitting up in their castles and sending knights out to burn down what little his people had managed to eke out for themselves. _

_ Mordred tried to push Morgana away, to knock her hand aside, but he was too weak and his eyes were closing as darkness crept in to drag him down. _

 

“He’s probably off feasting in some banquet hall or other,” Mordred sneered, resentment flaring up in his breast. “Impressing his guests by stuffing them like pigs while the townspeople feed their children scraps.”

Kara looked pleased with that assertion. “Let’s go find him then,” she said eagerly. “Let’s make him pay for his greed and his selfishness. For everything that he’s done to the people that he claims to protect and defend.”

Yes, that was a good idea.  They could make him pay. They could avenge all the people left starving in the streets, all the Druids left to languish in the wilderness, all the sorcerers cut down where they stood or burned alive while they screamed for mercy.

 

_ Uther Pendragon’s voice was loud in his ears, condemning everything that he was, offering up death as the only salvation for the supposed crime of his existence. The axe fell with a horrifying thump, and Morgana’s mirror shattered as Mordred’s magic unleashed his grief in the only way that it could. _

 

The Pendragons had murdered his father. They had hunted down an innocent man and ended his life just because he was different, because he had a power that they didn’t understand. Well Mordred had that power too, and far more besides. He had magic that swelled inside him and burned in his fingertips, ready to be released, to rage and storm the way it had wanted to back then and hadn’t been given the chance.

Kara pulled Mordred out into the corridor, smiling at him as if she had never been happier than in this moment. Mordred took the lead, heading toward the main banquet hall in the hopes that Arthur and his esteemed guests—each and every one of them a murderer in their own right, slaughtering their citizens out of fear and ignorance and expecting to get away with it—would be gathered there. They could hear the sounds of laughter and cutlery on plates when someone called Mordred’s name.

He turned to see Sirs Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan coming toward him, each of them smiling widely at him. They were probably straight off the training field, still dressed in the chainmail that marked them as the agents of Camelot, pawns of the king who had ordered his kind eliminated.

“Hey, my little magic friend,” Gwaine said as they drew even with them. “Good to see you back in town! And with a beautiful lady on your arm,” he added with a nod to Kara, eyebrow waggling suggestively. Mordred pulled her a step behind him, all senses on alert for any sign of a threat from these men, these knights of Camelot.

They didn’t seem to notice his wariness.

“What about that other girl?” Elyan asked, frowning at the two of them. “That mage you were courting. What was her name...Cecily?”

 

_ Cecily’s fingers twined through his, warm and firm as she tugged him insistently toward the stables. _

_ “Come on, Mordred, we’ve been training all day,” she wheedled. “It’s time for a break, and you haven’t seen the waterfall yet!” _

_ “There’s a waterfall?” he asked. _

_ “See? You haven’t seen hardly anything of this kingdom!” she declared. “So we are going to go for a ride and I’m going to show you everything you need to see to be a true citizen of Carthis.” _

_ Mordred couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, at the way her eyes sparkled when the sunlight hit them just right, at the way her nose scrunched up when she squinted in the brightness. _

 

“Cecily,” Mordred said, his hand going slack in Kara’s. “She’s in Carthis.”

Wasn’t she? They had run into her yesterday. At least, he thought they had. He found that he couldn’t quite remember what they had talked about, if they had talked at all. But she had been there, he was sure of that. She had not smiled, though. He would definitely have remembered it if she had smiled at him.

“You’re here for Arthur, right?” Percival asked, snapping Mordred out of his sudden daze. “To see if he has new questions for Ellison?”

“Yes,” Mordred said. He had a job to do, an admittedly boring but also very important job that would help Arthur bring magic back to all the kingdoms of Albion. Arthur was changing the laws, he was learning about magic and trying to teach others. He was fighting for their right to live freely and Mordred was proud to be a part of that fight. “Yes, do you know where he is? He wasn’t in his chambers.”

“I haven’t been keeping track of the princess,” Gwaine said with a flip of his hair. “Have you?” he asked the others.

Percival shrugged.

“I think he’s having dinner with Sarrum,” Elyan said. “I passed servants bringing their dinner up to that solar in the west wing, the one no one ever uses.”

“He’s with Sarrum?” Kara asked sharply. “Sarrum of Amata?”

The knights looked at her strangely, but Mordred understood. Kara had lived in Amata, had spent years under Sarrum’s tyrannical rule, just as bad as Uther Pendragon’s if not worse; she had every reason to be afraid of the man.

Only she didn’t sound afraid. She sounded angry. Her hands were clenched into fists by her side and her mouth was pressed into a tight line. She had a right to be angry too, Mordred supposed, after a lifetime of living in hiding just to survive. Sarrum hunted their kind down like animals, just like Uther had. Camelot was not so different from Amata, both of them hostile and intolerant,  _ dangerous _ .

“Mordred, are you alri—?”

Gwaine’s hand came down on Mordred’s shoulder.

 

_ Flames rising toward the sky, his home on fire. Screams and swords clashing. Red cloaks and red blood and the glint of sun on a blade as it fell. _

 

Gwaine was blasted back, colliding hard with the stone wall with a shout. He slid to its base and slumped there, unmoving. Percival and Elyan stared at him, too stunned to comprehend what they had just witnessed. Percival regained his senses first, drawing his sword even though the look on his face said that he couldn’t believe he was doing it.

“Mordred,” he said cautiously. “What are you doing?”

“No, put the sword down,” Elyan said, getting between them and holding his hands up. “We’re on the same side, we don’t need to fight! Mordred, what is this?”

Mordred didn’t answer, fear and loathing pulsing through him in equal measure and his magic churning in the pit of his stomach. Another blast sent both of them crashing into the wall as well, falling down to lie limp and motionless on the floor.

 

_ The hilt of the sword came down and Kara fell, sticky red welling up to darken her hair as she hit the ground. Mordred couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t— _

 

Kara took his hand and began dragging him down the corridor, pulling harder when he stumbled, and he shook his head to clear it.

“Come on, Mordred,” she urged him. “We need to get to Pendragon, remember? We need to make him _ pay _ .”

Yes, Pendragon was responsible for everything and he needed to pay for it. He deserved to suffer for all the suffering that he had caused, for all the camps that he had destroyed and the lives that he had ended. Mordred took off running toward the west wing with Kara hot on his heels.

The door to the solar was closed when they reached it but that didn’t deter them. Mordred wrenched it open and found Arthur seated at a long table with Sarrum sitting opposite, a platter heavily laden with rich foods laid out between them.

Arthur stood up when they entered. “Mordred!” he said. “You’re early. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour at least. I haven’t had a chance to write out—”

“ _ Kill him _ ,” Kara hissed in his ear. “You were a coward before, but you can do better this time. You can right all the wrongs from back then if you just  _ kill him now _ .”

Mordred threw out a wave of barely-controlled magic, his rage making him clumsy. Arthur’s sharply honed reflexes overrode any shock he must have felt; he flung himself to the side and the magic impacted with a tall vase on a plinth, which toppled to the ground and shattered. He rolled back to his feet, his hand going to his belt on instinct, but he wasn’t wearing his sword.

“Mordred, what are you doing?” he demanded.

“Something that I should have done a long time ago,” Mordred said. “I am bringing justice to all the magic users you have persecuted.”

Arthur shook his head, horrified, and opened his mouth to respond but Sarrum spoke first.

“Kara?” he asked, his wide face reddening as he heaved himself to his feet. “What on earth are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Carthis!”

“I am fulfilling my Lady’s noble work,” Kara said boldly, stepping forward to stand by Mordred’s side.

“Your Lady?” Sarrum growled. “Who the hell is—”

“The Lady Morgana,” Kara said, a manic grin spreading across her face. “The true champion of my people, cut down by one of her own. He may have betrayed his own kind, but I will not do so any longer.”

“You traitorous little  _ bitch _ ,” Sarrum snarled, pulling a knife from a sheath strapped to his thigh. He threw it with deadly speed and accuracy, but it was neither quick enough nor strong enough to to get past the shield Mordred conjured.

“Mordred,” Arthur called, still crouched low and positioned so as to use the table as a shield in itself. “Why are you doing this? This isn’t you! You never agreed with Morgana’s doctrine.”

 

_ “I don’t want to be brave,” Morgana said, her face pale and exhausted shadows under her eyes. She tried to smile. “I just want to be myself.” _

 

“She strove to create a world where people like me could be free,” Mordred said. “How could I not agree with that?”

“By the end of it, all she strove to do was usurp my throne and take over my kingdom,” Arthur said. “And she used violence and treachery to do it. You don’t condone that, you never have! “

 

_ “KILL HIM,” Morgana screamed, her hair a dark halo of wild curls around her once-beautiful face now contorted in fury. “That’s all they had to do!” _

_ Mordred watched her with a dull ache in his chest. This was not the same person that he remembered. How far she had fallen from the compassionate young woman she had been so many years ago. _

_ “I want his annihilation, Mordred,” she said with all the fervor of a fanatic. “I want to put his head on a spike and watch as the crows feast on his eyes!” _

_ A thrill of fear went down Mordred’s spine and he knew that he could never be a part of this madness. _

 

Mordred’s raised hands fell to his side and he stumbled back a step, his shield flickering out of existence. Kara reached out to steady him, looking back and forth between him and Arthur in consternation.

“Do it, Mordred,” she said. “Kill him! He’s the one responsible for the destruction of our camp, the murder of our people, remember?”

 

_ Knights of Camelot storming through the ramshackle tents, slicing the worn fabric to ribbons. Blood pooling on the ground around corpses left to rot where they fell. _

 

Mordred surged forward again, letting loose a plume of fire. Arthur ducked behind the table again and Sarrum followed his lead this time, both of them cowering like the frightened children they always were in the face of a power they could never dream of comprehending.

“Mordred, please!” Arthur cried when the flames stopped roaring. “You don’t need to do this! I’m your friend!”

“Don’t bother, Pendragon,” Sarrum barked. “There’s no reasoning with animals like these.”

 

_ A fist slammed into Mordred’s gut and he doubled over, wheezing. A boot caught him in the side and sent him sprawling on the ground, his head slamming hard into the sturdy wall of the tavern that he had been trying to take refuge in. The man loomed over him, grinning with rotten teeth and turning back over his shoulder to laugh with his friend. _

_ Mordred tried to swing a fist at the man, but he was only thirteen and he didn’t have the muscle mass to cause any damage. His magic swirled inside him, desperate to get out, but Mercia’s laws were as clear as Camelot’s and his life would be forfeit. The man landed another kick to his chest and there was nothing that Mordred could do about it. _

_ “See?” his attacker said as another man showed up at his shoulder, cracking his knuckles. “Filthy animals, these Druids. You just gotta put ‘em in their place.” _

 

Mordred saw red and his next spell blasted the sturdy table into pieces, sending shrapnel flying through the air in every direction. Kara put up a shield, smaller and dimmer than his own had been, but enough to protect them from the worst of it. Arthur and Sarrum were not so lucky, both of them peppered with splinters. One whole table leg collided with Sarrum’s head and he went down hard, knocked out.

A considerable chunk of wood lodged itself in Arthur’s shoulder left and he cried out in pain, collapsing back against the far wall. Kara dropped her shield and advanced on him, picking her way through the debris. Mordred followed, glaring down at him with all the hatred he had ever felt.

“Do it,” Kara ordered him. “Do it, Mordred. You want him dead, you know you do. You want revenge for every wrong the Pendragons have ever done you and this is how you get it.  _ Do it _ !”

Mordred raised his hand.


	15. Chapter 15

The warning bells weren’t ringing and the guards were slouching at their posts instead of running to protect their king, but that did not put Merlin off his mission. Arthur had called for him and he would never doubt a signal like that.

Some of the guards did look rather alarmed when he came bursting through the front doors and swept through the corridors like he owned them. A few even shouted for him to stop or to explain himself, but he didn’t have time to reassure them that he wasn’t the one attacking them. Thankfully, they were wise enough not to try to detain him or get in his way.

The lack of alarm did worry Merlin; it meant that Sarrum had planned his attack well and was discreet enough that no one had even noticed that Arthur was in danger. He looked to Cecily, nearly running to keep pace with his much longer legs, and she looked just as perturbed.

Merlin’s worry turned to outright fear when they came across Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan collapsed in the middle of a corridor. Merlin knelt beside Gwaine and did a routine physician’s check, searching for open wounds or broken bones. There was a lump on the back of his head but no blood and he stirred under Merlin’s touch. Merlin slapped his cheeks until he got a groan from him.

“Gwaine!” he said urgently. “Gwaine, I need you to wake up and tell me what happened. Come on, mate, I know your head’s thicker than this.”

“Ow,” Gwaine moaned, reaching for his head. “Bloody fucking  _ ow _ . Merlin?”

“Yes, Gwaine, that’s it. What happened? Who did this?”

“Mordred,” came Elyan’s voice. Cecily was helping him to sit up, propping him against the wall, and Percival was stirring now as well.

“What?” Merlin asked. “What about Mordred?”

“Mordred did it,” Elyan said. “He attacked us.”

Cecily sat back on her heels, torn between disbelief and horror.

“No,” Merlin said immediately. “No, Mordred would never!”

“But he did,” Gwaine said, struggling to get to his feet. “Him and some girl. Never seen her before but they seemed really cozy.”

Merlin pushed Gwaine back down and said, “Stay still, you could have a concussion.”

“Merlin, if Mordred’s brought Kara here…” Cecily said, trailing off suggestively.

“And if Mordred’s so far under her spell that he’s attacking his friends?” Merlin added. “She’s making her move now. They’re going after Arthur.”

“What the hell is going on?” Elyan asked.

“Who is that bint and what’s she got against Arthur?”

“Arthur’s in the solar in the west wing,” Percival—apparently the only helpful one in the bunch—volunteered from his place on the floor. “He was dining with Sarrum.”

“ _ Damn it all _ !” Merlin said.

He leapt to his feet and took off down the corridor without another word. How long ago had Kara and Mordred showed up? How long had Arthur been alone with Sarrum before they got there? Which of them had spurred Arthur into signaling for Merlin’s help? Exactly how many people were currently in the process of trying to kill Arthur and, really, why was Merlin not surprised by any of this?

The communication charm blazed hot against his wrist again, flaring bright for less than a second before it faded away. Merlin ran faster, though at least he had confirmation that Arthur wasn’t dead just yet. The door to the solar was open and Merlin skidded through it just in time to see Mordred bearing down on Arthur, injured and cornered, with his hand raised.

“ _ Stop _ !” Merlin cried.

He reached out with his magic to grab hold of Mordred and haul him backwards. Arthur scrambled to his feet, clutching at his wounded shoulder.

“Merlin! Thank the gods,” he said. “Mordred’s gone  _ mad _ !”

“No, he’s just enchanted,” Merlin told him, pulling Arthur behind him even as he kept a wary eye on Mordred and the girl at his back. “He’s under her spell. None of this is him.”

“That’s not quite true,” Kara said smugly as she put a hand on Mordred’s shoulder. He was breathing hard like a bull ready to charge and his hands were clenching spasmodically at his sides, itching for a weapon.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked. “What have you done to him?”

“Everything Mordred is feeling right now, he has felt before,” Kara said. “The emotions are his own; all I had to do was remind him of them. Isn’t that right, Mordred?”

She put a hand on Mordred’s cheek, turning his face toward hers. His furious expression softened and he smiled at her, as untroubled and besotted as any child with his sweetheart.

“Don’t touch him!” Cecily shouted, pushing past Merlin. A swing of her hand sent Kara flying backwards to crash into the wall.

Mordred let out a roar of anger and lashed out. Cecily barely got a shield up in time and even with it in place, the force of the blow still knocked her off her feet. Merlin rushed to meet Mordred’s next attack, catching the ball of flames and redirecting it. The remnants of the dining table caught fire and Merlin doused them with a word, though his distraction meant that he almost missed the next wave of magic Mordred sent in his direction.

“Mordred, you’ve got to stop,” he said as the wave collided with the shield he raised with startling force. Merlin braced against the vacuum left in the wake of its recession, holding tight to his own magic so that it didn’t get drawn out with the tide. “I know that you don’t want to do this. You don’t want to betray Arthur.”

“I’m not the traitor, Emrys,” Mordred growled and the address felt like a blow all on its own. “ _ You  _ are! You are a traitor to your kind and you always have been, more concerned with protecting the Pendragons than with fighting for your own people.” He flung debris at Merlin, bits of flaming woods flying fast enough to run him through if they connected.

Merlin kept his shield steady and the shrapnel disintegrated upon impact. “That’s not how it was, Mordred,” he said. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“You tried to kill me!” Mordred bellowed, the light from the fires all around them casting a ghastly red light upon his face. “I was a  _ child _ , Emrys, and you would have left me to die.  _ Twice _ you would have sacrificed my life for the sake of  _ him _ .” He jabbed a finger at Arthur, who was staying out of the way as much as possible to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of a duel that he could not participate in. “He led raids against my people and slaughtered innocent men, women, and children, and still you chose to protect him over your kin!”

“You know why I did that, Mordred, and you know how much I regret it,” Merlin said, letting another of Mordred’s attacks dissipate against his shield. “I was young and easily led. I believed so strongly in destiny and I was terrified of failing, of the threat I was told that you posed to that destiny. But I didn’t go through with it, Mordred, you must remember that too!”

“That’s because you were too much of a weakling to stick to your convictions,” Mordred shot back along with several sherds from the broken vase, razor sharp and lethal at high speeds. Merlin blasted them apart before they reached him, the dust blowing away in the gust of wind that he conjured to push Mordred back. Mordred retained his feet and shouted over the noise, “If you wanted me dead, you should have killed me yourself instead of trying to get Arthur’s men to do your dirty work for you!”

“ _ Uther’s _ men,” Merlin corrected him. “ _ Uther _ is the one who hunted you, Mordred. Arthur is the one who risked everything to save your life and return you to your people. Arthur is the one who promised the Druids the respect they deserve. Arthur is the one who is lifting the ban on magic so that you and I might live safely.”

“Please, Mordred,” Arthur said. “I’m doing everything I can to set things right.”

“Too little too late, Pendragon,” Kara said, awake and using the wall to haul herself upright again. “It doesn’t absolve you of the crimes you have already committed. Morgana was right: you can never be trusted to do right by us. You have always feared our power and you always will.”

Mordred reared back his hand, ready to let loose another attack.

“The love that binds us is more important than the power we wield!” Merlin said, desperate to reach the part of his friend that still believed it. “You told me that, Mordred. You said that Morgana had lost sight of that, that she had lost who she truly was in her quest for power. And you never wanted that to happen to you. Please try to remember the love that you hold in your heart.”

Mordred faltered, his anger flickering and fading to something that looked almost like confusion, as if he wasn’t sure where he was or what he was doing. Merlin let his shield fall, approaching him with great caution, ready to go on the defensive if Mordred should lose control of himself again. He held up one hand in front of him, an offer rather than a threat, but his other hand slid to the pouch still hanging from his belt, slowly tugging at the drawstring.

“Do you remember, Mordred?” he asked. “Do you remember how much we all care about you? Me and Arthur, and Gwaine and the other knights? We’re brothers, Mordred, all of us. We’re a family.”

Mordred’s disoriented expression disappeared in the blink of an eye and fury twisted his features again. “I had a family,” he growled. “And the Pendragons took them from me.”

“ _ Mordred _ !” Cecily called, and he turned.

He looked at her for a moment, open-mouthed and dazed, and Merlin pounced on him. It took only a second for Merlin to snap one of the manacles around his wrist and Mordred cried out, trying desperately to pull away, but Merlin drew his magic forth to give him strength and wrestled the second cuff into place.

The second it clicked shut Mordred sagged as though all his strength had left him, but he didn’t stop fighting. Merlin held onto him tightly.

“Mordred, listen to me,” he said, the strain of keeping him subdued sounding in his voice. “Please, I need you to remember the promise you made. You swore to me on your father’s grave that you would never betray Arthur. When I told you of the fate laid out for you, do you remember? You said that you would never hurt Arthur, and not just because he was a great king but because he was your  _ friend. _ ”

“You took my magic from me,” Mordred said with venom in his voice, trying to push him away.

“I know,” Merlin said. “I know and I’m sorry for that, but you  _ don’t want to do this _ . You’re enchanted and when the spell is broken you’re going to regret everything you’ve done today. You don’t want to hurt Arthur, Mordred, and I will do anything to make sure you don’t because I’m  _ your _ friend as much as I am his. I won’t let you destroy the life that you’ve built here. I will protect you even from yourself if I have to because that’s what friends are for, remember?”

Mordred’s struggles slowed and stopped. He was still breathing hard, almost gasping as if he had run until he couldn’t anymore. Then there came a different sort of struggle, smaller but even more insistent.

“Off,” he said, his voice strangled but desperate. “Off, off, get it  _ off _ .”

Merlin pulled back to see that Mordred was scrabbling at his wrist. But it wasn’t the manacle he was trying to get off. There was a bracelet there that Merlin had never seen before and when he touched it he could feel the magic in it, sickly sweet and overpowering. Merlin wrapped his hand around it and covered the wretched thing with his own magic, swamping the original spell and chasing Kara’s magic out until there was nothing left.

Mordred gasped, his knees giving out beneath him, and Merlin caught him before he collapsed entirely.

“Merlin,” he panted as Merlin lowered him to the ground. “Oh gods, Merlin. Merlin, I’m sorry. What have I done?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Merlin told him, the staggering relief making him glad that he was already sitting in case his knees gave out from it. “It’s alright, Mordred,” he said. “It wasn’t you. Everything’s going to be—”

“ _ NO _ !”

A heavy force slammed into Merlin and sent him flying through the air, the ground rushing up to meet him hard and knocking the breath from his lungs. He heard Arthur shout his name and hoped that he had the sense not to interfere right now, or else that Cecily would keep him out of it. Merlin looked up just in time to see the vase’s plinth crashing down toward him and he rolled out from underneath it. It shattered upon impact, chunks of stone scattering across the floor.

“ _ I will not be thwarted by the likes of you _ !” Kara screamed. She lobbed a ball of fire at Merlin and he batted it out of the way as he climbed to his feet. “You are a traitor and a murderer! You were meant to be our savior, Emrys, and instead you have only aided the violence against our kind. Morgana was our true savior and you took her from us.”

“Morgana lost sight of her cause a long time ago,” Merlin said. “In the end she served nothing but her own vengeance and lust for power.”

Kara lashed out with all the strength she had and Merlin threw up a shield to block it. There would be no ending this peacefully, he could see that clearly. She was too far gone in her fervor, obsessed with Morgana and finishing her work, to ever be convinced that they were no longer her enemy. And if she would not stop, then Merlin would have to stop her.

He was just thinking of a spell to use to put her down when he caught sight of Mordred. He was on his knees where Merlin had left him, not seeming to have moved at all, and he was pale and open-mouthed, watching the battle with horror and despair in every line of his face. He did love her, Merlin realized. Even though she had used him for her own purposes, had enchanted and manipulated him to turn him against his friends, some part of Mordred still loved the Kara he had known as a child.

It was cruel for him to find her after so many years only to lose her again so soon, but then the Fates had never been kind to Mordred. But perhaps Merlin could show him the mercy the Fates would not.

Merlin focused his attention on Kara, on the attacks that she threw at him. She was not particularly powerful, though her rage lent her strength beyond her normal means, nor was she very skilled. Mostly she was relying on basic spells and her own ingenuity, which was falling by the wayside now that her plan had fallen to pieces. She was pouring out all of her magic against Merlin’s shield.

Like called to like where magic was concerned, the energy of all living things wishing to meld into one and return to the earth from whence it came. Kara’s magic recognized his even as it battered against his shield, the forces meeting and mingling before they were pulled apart again. This time, when Kara’s spell connected, Merlin did not let her pull away, did not allow the tide of her magic to recede. When Kara’s magic pushed against his, he let his own yield, pulling it back inside him and dragging hers along in its wake.

Kara did not notice what he was doing at first. For a moment there was glee on her face, thinking that she had won, that she had broken through his shield and avenged her mistress. Then fear took over as she realized that her magic was slipping away from her no matter how hard she tried to keep a hold of it.

Merlin kept pulling, sucking up her magic and taking it inside himself until he felt like an oversaturated sponge, every inch of him full of magic and trembling with its energy. There was too much of it, more than his body was meant to hold, but he could not stop just yet. Kara screamed as the last of her power was ripped from her and she collapsed, drained and powerless.

Someone called Merlin’s name but he barely heard them over the riot of magic he had inside him, the rush of it in his ears, the blinding flash of it behind his eyelids when he squeezed them closed. His head throbbed, his chest burned, his eyes blazed with power, and there was simply too much. He needed to get it  _ out _ , to get rid of the excess before it burned him alive. He fell to his knees and slammed his hand into the ground, the stone cracking under the force of it, and  _ pushed _ .

The excess magic flooded out of him, pulsing through his veins and bleeding through his palm to the stones, into the foundation of the castle and beyond. The magic of the earth itself rose up to greet it, welcoming it back into the fold. The release left Merlin feeling dizzy and winded, though every bit of him still tingled and sparked with the rush of it all.

There was a shout behind him and Merlin struggled to pull himself together enough to respond. He turned to see Sarrum on his feet and close behind Arthur, who had not noticed his approach. He had his dagger in hand, swinging down toward Arthur’s back. But it wasn’t Arthur’s flesh that the blade found; it was Mordred’s.

He flung himself in Sarrum’s path, shielding Arthur with his own body, and the dagger sank into his chest. Arthur turned and caught him as he fell, staring in shock, and Cecily screamed Mordred’s name. Sarrum growled in frustration and reached for another weapon, but Merlin did not give him a chance to draw it.

Sarrum was slammed against the wall by the force of Merlin’s magic, lifted off the ground and pinned there. He struggled against the hold but Merlin didn’t let up. Instead he stalked forward, feeling the glow of magic in his eyes as his power swelled with his fury. Winds sprang into life all around them, a swirling maelstrom centered on him, and he thought he saw a flicker of fear in Sarrum’s eyes.

“Filthy sorcerers!” Sarrum bellowed, kicking wildly, fighting to free himself. “Disgusting animals, the whole lot of you!”

“You hurt my friend,” Merlin said, his voice low and dangerous. “You threatened Arthur. You sent assassins after me. You held Morgana in a  _ pit _ for two years and  _ tortured _ Aithusa just to hurt her further.”

Sarrum smiled, giving a creaky laugh. “You should have heard her screams,” he said. “They were almost as satisfying as the little beast’s.”

Merlin clenched his fist and his magic surged, reaching forward to wrap around Sarrum’s neck. The pressure made him choke and gag, reaching reflexively for his throat to claw at the invisible hand there. His face grew red and then darker still, his jowls quivered as he mouthed soundlessly, trying to gasp in air that would not come to him. Merlin’s fingers twitched as he remembered Aithusa’s pitiful cries, the damage that had been done by those screams that Sarrum so fondly remembered, and he itched to squeeze just that little bit harder.

“Merlin, stop!”

Arthur’s hand came down on Merlin’s shoulder but he jerked it back with a hiss of pain as Merlin’s magic flared up to sting his palm. Then he grit his teeth and took hold of Merlin again.

“Merlin, think about what you’re doing,” he said. “What good will this achieve?”

“He’s a sadistic murderer,” Merlin growled. “He crippled an innocent young creature for his own  _ sick pleasure _ .”

“I know that. It’s disgusting, everything that he’s done,” Arthur said. “But we want  _ peace _ , Merlin. Peace between all the kingdoms of this realm, that is our ultimate goal. Will killing him here and now bring that goal any closer?”

Merlin swallowed hard, fighting the urge to snap Sarrum’s neck, to run him through, to make him scream like Sarrum had Morgana, to make him  _ suffer _ as Aithusa had suffered. But Arthur’s fingers dug into his shoulder, grounding him. Sarrum was still kicking, fighting for every little bit of air he could drag into his lungs past Merlin’s chokehold.

“Mordred?” Merlin asked, afraid of the answer.

“He’s still alive,” Arthur said, “for now. Cecily’s doing what she can for him with healing magic and I’ve already flagged down a guard and sent for Gaius.”

The relief that ran through Merlin doused some of his fury. Slowly, reluctantly, he let Sarrum slide down the wall until his feet touched the ground again.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur said. “This isn’t what Mordred would want for you.”

Merlin released his spells and Sarrum fell at his feet, coughing and retching and gasping for air. Leon was suddenly at Merlin’s side, pushing past him to pull Sarrum upright and bind his hands with rope. Merlin stumbled back, his hands shaking as his magic retreated to its proper place inside him again, leaving the rest of him cold and weary. Arthur steadied him.

“Alright?” he asked, eyeing Merlin with obvious worry.

Merlin ignored the question, not knowing how to answer it. He caught sight of the piece of wood still sticking out of Arthur’s shoulder and said, “That needs treating.”

“I think we could all stand to be checked out,” Arthur said. “Gaius will be here soon.”

“I need to help Mordred,” Merlin said, trying to push past him, but Arthur didn’t move aside.

“Cecily’s got it well in hand,” he said. “And you look like you’re about to collapse. Sit down.”

He pushed Merlin down into one of the chairs, which had survived the battle much better than the table it had accompanied, and then sank into the one next to it with a groan. Merlin was too exhausted to resist and instead watched as Cecily tended to Mordred with steady hands despite the tears on her face.


	16. Chapter 16

Merlin watched from a distance as Arthur bid farewell to Lord Bayard, the two of them making plans for another visit sometime soon to further discuss various aspects of the new treaty they had signed. Bayard sent a wary glance in his direction but he smiled at Arthur as they parted so Merlin’s presence couldn’t have been too much of a deterrent. Arthur turned to King Alined next.

“You’re still here,” came a voice from over his shoulder. It made him jump. Annis stood behind him, a heavy tartan cloak thrown around her shoulders and a line of her servants trotting past to prepare her party for their departure. “You didn’t participate in the talks, nor in Sarrum’s trial. I would have thought that you had returned to your own kingdom by now.”

“One of my men was injured in Sarrum’s attack,” Merlin told her. “I don’t want to leave until he’s stable enough to return with me.”

Annis looked at him through narrowed eyes. “And I’m sure your continued presence has nothing to do with Sarrum’s execution tomorrow,” she said.

Merlin ducked his head. A part of him wanted to lie, to pretend that he was a better man than he was and would take no pleasure in witnessing the man’s death, but there was something about Annis that stopped him from saying it. It wasn’t that she invited confidences; it was more a sense that she would know if he wasn’t being truthful and judge him harshly for it. She was so painfully frank in all of her dealings that it was difficult to be anything but forthcoming in return. So Merlin lifted his head high again and met her stare directly.

“I won’t deny that I’m looking forward that,” he said baldly. “He harmed several people that I care about and it is only due to Arthur’s wisdom that I didn’t strike him down where he stood.”

Annis stepped closer to stand alongside him, turning to look out over the courtyard milling with horses and their assorted riders. “You sought revenge against Sarrum,” she said, watching the sea of shifting colors.

“In that moment, yes.”

“But not anymore?” Annis asked.

Merlin shook his head. “Revenge is never the path to take,” he said. “To die by my hand would have made him a victim in his own right and me a murderer alongside him. For his death to come by a consensus of his peers as judgment for the crimes he has committed—that is justice.”

Annis turned to look at him again, a small pinch between her eyebrows though her expression was still hard to read. “You admit your faults so readily?”

“How can we expect to mend our faults if we do not acknowledge them?” Merlin countered.

Annis’s thin lips tugged up into a small smile. “I look forward to treating with you, Merlin Ambrosius,” she said. She held out her hand and, after a moment of surprise, Merlin shook it firmly.

“And I with you, your Majesty,” he said.

He watched her walk away, exchange a few words with Arthur, and mount her horse all in something of a daze. He had a feeling that interactions with her would always be a little bit daunting.

Arthur snapped fingers in front of his face. “Did I just see you having a chat with Annis?” he asked.

“I think she likes me,” Merlin declared.

“A small miracle in and of itself,” Arthur said with a roll of his eyes. He took Merlin the arm and towed him back toward the door. “Come on,” he said. “Gwaine’s back from seeing Gaius and he said that Mordred’s awake and we’re allowed to visit now.”

Merlin followed him eagerly. It had been three days since the attack, three days since Mordred had taken a knife to the chest, and Gaius had been monitoring him closely. Merlin would have sat at Mordred’s bedside every hour of every day, but for the most part Gaius was keeping everyone out of his chambers so that he would have room to work without distractions.

The only time he had let Merlin in was so that he could talk Merlin through a particularly tricky healing spell that he didn’t have enough power to perform himself, and that had been two days ago. Otherwise, the only person allowed to come and go freely was Lady Cecily, who had taken to sleeping on the floor of Merlin’s old room up the back stairs while Mordred occupied the bed there, and other patients needing treatment, like Gwaine with his mild concussion.

They passed by the ruined solar on their way to the physician’s chambers. There were servants bustling in and out with buckets of water and brooms and handfuls of rags. The biggest pieces of debris had been removed but there were still scorch marks all over the stone walls and probably would be for some time, and the stone floor had a deep crack running through it from where Merlin had bombarded it with Kara’s stolen magic.

“Sorry about all the mess in there,” Merlin said for the dozenth time.

Arthur shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Most of it wasn’t you anyway.”

“I’m just glad the other monarchs didn’t see any of the fight,” Merlin said. “If they weren’t intimidated by me before, they would have been after that.”

“Definitely. Really, Merlin, you had  _ me _ scared for a minute.”

It was said with a laugh, but Merlin’s stomach went cold and his heart dropped out of his chest. He didn’t notice that he had stopped walking until Arthur turned back to see where he had gone.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse. “I didn’t mean to— You never need to be—”

“No,” Arthur said immediately, coming back to stand before him and look him in the eye. “No, Merlin, that’s not what I meant.”

“Arthur, I—I never wanted you to be afraid of me.  _ Never _ .”

“Merlin, it wasn’t  _ you _ that I was afraid of in there,” Arthur said, waving at the destroyed solar. “I know you far too well to ever fear you. You’re practically a kitten, albeit one with claws sometimes.”

Merlin almost managed a smile at that, but he still felt sick to his stomach. “Then what?” he asked, needing to hear it, needing to know that he hadn’t damaged the easy friendship they had with what he had almost done.

“I was afraid that you were losing yourself,” Arthur said gently. “You have always been the first to preach clemency and forgiveness, and to warn against committing violence for the sake of it. But you were so caught up in anger...I had just never seen you like that before.”

Merlin swallowed hard around the lump of shame in his throat and could not bring himself to meet Arthur’s eyes, even though there was no condemnation in anything that he said. “Thank you,” he said. “For stopping me, I mean. I would have regretted it.”

“I knew you would,” Arthur said, reaching out to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder. “Just as you knew that I would have regretted running my father through after I learned of my mother’s fate. And that I would regret killing Caerleon. And any number of other times that you’ve been the voice of reason in my ear. It was about time that I returned the favor.”

“Is it a bad sign that we keep needing to stop each other from killing people?” Merlin asked, grinning now. Arthur just ruffled his hair and strode off down the corridor again before he could retaliate—his go-to move now that Merlin could use magic to get him back in more and more creative ways. Merlin hurried to catch up, falling in at Arthur’s side.

“Speaking of not killing people,” Arthur said, earning himself a wary look from a passing maid. “Why did you spare Kara’s life?”

Merlin chewed on his lip for a moment, shoving his hands in his pockets. “To save Mordred the heartache of losing her all over again. He’s been through enough.”

“She manipulated him, used him as a pawn.”

“Morgana did the same to a lot of people,” Merlin countered. “But you still mourned her passing, did you not? You still miss her even now?”

“Yes, I do,” Arthur admitted. “She was my sister. In the end it didn’t matter what she had done.”

“I have done Mordred a lot of wrong in the time I’ve known him,” Merlin said. “I didn’t want to do him any more if I didn’t have to.”

Arthur was quiet for a long while, his brow furrowed in thought. “Kara used the same spell on Mordred that Morgana used on Guinevere, didn’t she?” he asked eventually. “The bracelet that dredges up old feelings?”

“Wow, you really have been paying attention to all those magic lessons,” Merlin said, impressed.

“I’m not completely thick, you know,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

“I could argue that point, but I think I’ll let it go this time.”

“It would be in the best interests of your health to do so.”

“Yes, in answer to your question, that is the spell that Kara used,” Merlin said. “Which makes sense, considering she learned most of her magic from the tales Morgana told her. From what I can figure, it was originally just meant to bring back Mordred’s devotion for her, his willingness to do anything that she asked of him. But Kara didn’t have anywhere near Morgana’s control or her finesse.”

Merlin shook his head, remembering the harsh feel of Kara’s magic, the crudeness of the enchantment. It was as if sheer force of will had made it work the way she wanted.

“With Gwen, the enchantment didn’t have to reach far to find what it was looking for,” Merlin said. “A few years, two or three at most. With Mordred, it had to bypass thirteen years, and those years were full of turmoil and strife, so many other strong emotions. All of those other feelings got caught up in it. Kara was clever enough to make use of them, but it was unstable. Really, it’s a wonder that the spell didn’t drive him mad.”

Arthur looked stricken. “He’s alright, though?” he asked. “You’re sure that he’s going to be alright?”

“He’ll be fine,” Merlin told him. “He would have needed a few days of rest even if he hadn’t been stabbed, but it didn’t seem to have done him any lasting harm last time I saw him. And Gaius would have known if anything was wrong.”

Arthur nodded, though he still looked a bit worried.

They had just come within sight of Gaius’ door when Merlin stopped in his tracks again, this time with a groan. Raime was leaning against the wall outside the physician’s chambers, arms crossed and looking torn between irritation and smugness. Merlin covered his face with his hands, as if that would stop Raime seeing him and thereby prevent the imminent conversation.

“Merlin, what on earth are you doing?” Arthur asked.

Merlin just groaned again.

“Is there some reason that you seem to be hiding from your manservant?”

Merlin dropped his hands with a huge sigh. “Because he was right and I didn’t listen and he’s going to be unbearably pleased with himself over it.”

“Well, doesn’t  _ that _ sound like a familiar narrative.” Arthur clapped him on the back and said, “Let’s get it over with, shall we?” He all but shoved Merlin down the hall until Raime caught sight of them.

“There you are!” he cried. “I’ve been standing here for an hour!”

“So sorry to have kept you waiting,” Merlin said dryly. “I assume that you hitched a ride with Gerund when he came to berate me for going off on my own to do dangerous things without backup again?”

“Yes, I did,” Raime said. “And he’s right about that, by the way, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Seriously, Raime?” Merlin said. “Did you really come all this way  _ just  _ to say ‘I told you so’?”

“Damn right I did!” he exclaimed. “And do you have anything to say in return?”

Merlin scowled at him, and then at Arthur when he raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, and in case you forgot,” Raime said, ever so helpfully, “all of this could have been prevented if you had just listened to me when I  _ told you _ that Kara had enchanted Mordred.”

“Really, Merlin,” Arthur drawled, not bothering to hide his amusement at the situation. “We kings should learn to listen to our manservants more often. They’re almost always right.”

“How do you do that?” Merlin asked peevishly. “How do you manage to insult me and retroactively compliment me at the same time? How?”

Arthur laughed. “I’m a man of many talents. Maybe you’ll learn them some day.”

“In the meantime, you have something to say to me,” Raime said expectantly. “Don’t you?”

“Fine, fine! You were right,” Merlin finally said. “You were right about everything, and I was wrong to blow you off the way I did. I, of all people, should know better than to dismiss the word of a servant and I would be happy to give you a few days off to make up for it. Which, I might add, is more than Arthur ever offered  _ me _ .”

“Oi!” Arthur said, smacking Merlin in the arm. “That is not true!”

“It is  _ so _ ,” Merlin insisted. “Remember that time you—”

“Oh, what would I do with days off anyway?” Raime said, thankfully interrupting their bickering before it could pick up momentum. “I’d just sit around all day doing nothing and being bored.”

There was an expectant look on his face that said he had something else in mind. Merlin narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah? And what other sort of reward are you angling for?”

“I want you to take me up for a ride on Aithusa,” Raime said.

“What?!”

Raime just kept smiling at him in that self-satisfied way and Merlin had to marvel at his audacity.

“He’s not a  _ horse _ !” Merlin objected. “You can’t just demand that he carry you around for your own entertainment! That is far beneath the dignity of his noble breed.”

Raime raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fine,” Merlin said, crossing his own arms to match his manservant’s stubborn stance. “I will  _ ask _ Aithusa if he would be willing to give you a ride, but I can’t guarantee that he’ll agree to it.”

“That’s enough for me,” Raime said with a bright, excited smile.

“Are we good then?” Merlin asked.

“We’re good.” Raime held out his hand and Merlin shook it.

“Well, if you two are done rabbiting on,” Arthur said, brushing past them toward the physician’s chambers, “I have a man down to visit.”

“He’s  _ my _ man down,” Merlin grumbled, but he followed in Arthur’s wake anyway.

Gaius was out doing his rounds, which was as good an indication of Mordred’s improving health as anything else. The door to the back room was pushed mostly closed and all was quiet so Merlin pulled Arthur back and shushed him, just in case Mordred was sleeping. Arthur rolled his eyes, but he let Merlin creep past him to peer through the gap between door and frame.

Mordred was lying in bed, still bandaged and pale, with his head in Cecily’s lap. She was leaned up against the headboard, smiling down at him and running her fingers absently through his hair. Her other hand rested on Mordred’s chest and as Merlin watched he reached up to take it in his own, threading their fingers together.

“Oh, you two are just  _ sickeningly  _ adorable. I hope you know that,” Raime said loudly from over Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin nearly pushed him back down the stairs.

The lovebirds both startled and turned bright red in the face. Cecily immediately chivvied Mordred off her lap and leapt to her feet, straightening her tunic and babbling excuses and explanations too quickly for anyone to actually understand, and then blustered right past them and out the door. Mordred just threw his arm over his face to avoid looking at any of them.

Merlin turned to Raime, hands on hips in his best imitation of his mother. “Look here. Do you see what you did?”

Raime shrugged, completely unconcerned by his own lack of tact. He yelped as Arthur took him by the arm and started pulling him toward the door.

“I’m just going to take this one away before he can embarrass the poor man any further,” Arthur said. “Tell Mordred that I’ll come back to visit him later.”

Merlin waved cheerily at them as they disappeared out the door, Raime protesting loudly the whole way. Then he leaned against the doorframe and looked around the little room that he had inhabited for so long. It didn’t look much different now than it had then. It was neater by far, with fewer clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor, but otherwise it was comfortingly familiar.

“I miss this room,” he said. “Not that I don’t appreciate my new feather mattress and everything, but there’s something to be said for simplicity.”

Mordred grunted into his elbow.

Merlin chuckled. He dropped into the chair set by the bedside, the one that Cecily had ignored in favor of cuddling with her beau.

“How are you feeling?” Merlin asked, his smile dimming a bit.

Mordred finally stopped hiding and tried to push himself upright, giving a gasp of pain as his arms gave out in the attempt. Merlin reached out to help, propping him up against one of the numerous fluffy pillows that Arthur had had brought in for him.

“I’ve been better,” Mordred said with a grimace. “But, to be fair, I’ve also been worse.”

“Always looking on the bright side, you are.”

Mordred offered him a small smile. “Gaius says with a few more healing spells I should be fit to travel short distances by tomorrow.”

“That’s great,” Merlin said. “Though it might be safer to wait one more day, make sure you’re alright.”

“No, Merlin, it needs to be tomorrow.”

“And why’s that?” Merlin asked when he didn’t move to explain.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Mordred said, almost too quietly for Merlin to hear.

Merlin frowned, taken aback. “Why not?”

“You know why, Merlin,” he said, hands clenching into fists, tangling in the bed sheets. “For the same reason that you nearly let me die all those years ago. I’m a danger to Arthur and I always will be.”

Merlin cursed internally; he had been afraid that this might happen, that everything that had gone down with Kara might make Mordred doubt himself all over again. He had just started being comfortable around Arthur again, comfortable in his own skin.  _ Damn _ Kara for pushing him back to that place, the one where he didn’t trust himself.

“That’s ridiculous,” Merlin told him plainly.

“I nearly killed him!” Mordred said and his voice cracked. “I nearly killed  _ you _ !”

“No, Mordred, you didn’t,” Merlin insisted, leaning forward and making sure that Mordred looked him in the eye. “ _ Kara  _ did. All of that was her doing, not yours.”

“But I still—”

“You made an oath,” Merlin said. “And you kept it. You swore that you would never harm Arthur and in the end, you didn’t.”

“But I could have. I almost did, and I still could.” Mordred had tears in his eyes. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. Maybe I’ll do it of my own will and maybe I won’t, but what does it matter how or why? It is my fate to be Arthur’s end!”

“The future is not written in stone, Mordred,” Merlin said. “It can be changed.  _ We  _ can change it. And who’s to say that we haven’t already?”

Mordred shook his head, disbelieving. “What does my oath mean if my actions aren’t guaranteed to be my own? If Kara can just waltz in and take over my mind and—”

“Kara isn’t an issue anymore.”

A thick silence hung over them for a long moment. Mordred seemed to be chewing on his tongue, his fingers plucking nervously at the blankets.

“Cecily said that you took her magic away,” Mordred said, his eyes downcast.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know that you could do that.”

“I didn’t either,” Merlin admitted. “I had wondered if it might be possible, theoretically. I thought that it was worth a try if it would let me subdue her without loss of life.”

“Where is she now? What will happen to her?”

Mordred was trying to sound as though he didn’t care about the answers, but Merlin knew him too well by now to be fooled by the facade of detachment. Merlin leaned back in his chair once more, watching Mordred closely.

“She’s in the dungeons,” he told him. “And she will be banished from both kingdoms and granted a stipend with which to set up a new life elsewhere.”

“Not executed?” Mordred asked, looking up at him. “Why?”

“She suffered much under the Pendragon regime,” Merlin said. “Arthur figured that he owed her at least that much as reparation for his own crimes against her and her kind. She was justified in her hatred of him, in some ways if not in others.”

“That won’t satisfy her,” Mordred said.

“We know. But without her magic, she isn’t much of a threat to us anymore. We’re giving her a chance to live a life unburdened by her magic and all the darkness that came with it.” Merlin shrugged. “If she chooses to throw that chance away, then that’s on her and we will respond accordingly.”

“Could...could I see her?” Mordred asked, sounding very young. “Before she’s escorted to the border. Could I talk to her one last time?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She had hurt him so much; Merlin worried how much more damage she could do to him even now.

“I just need to say goodbye,” Mordred whispered. “I never got to say it last time.”

Merlin nodded, the empathy a dull ache in his chest. “Far be it for me to deny you that,” he said.

Merlin pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll let you rest,” he said. “I’ll get Percival to come by later and he can help you down to the dungeons. If Gaius clears you for it, of course. I’m going back to Carthis tonight—I’ve already been gone twice as long as I had planned to be and Ellison’s at the end of his rope—but I’ll be back tomorrow for Sarrum’s execution, and I’ll take you home with me after.”

He was halfway down the stairs to the main room when Mordred’s voice reached him, soft and tentative.

“Did you get to say goodbye?”

Merlin turned back, confused.

“To Freya,” Mordred said. “Did you get to say goodbye to her?”

The memory of a mountain lake surrounded by wildflowers overtook Merlin, the crisp smell of impending snow and the glint of sunlight on tranquil waters, and the way that Freya had smiled at him in her last moments.

“Yes,” he said. “I did. And I’m thankful for it every day.”

“I did love Kara once,” Mordred said. “A long time ago.”

“It never fades,” Merlin said. “No matter how much time passes, and no matter the bad things they may have done. But you need to look forward, Mordred. After all, there’s always a new love waiting for you. Isn’t there?”

Mordred smiled then, genuine and warm. “Yeah, there is.”

“I’ll send Cecily back in, if I run into her,” Merlin said, returning the grin with such a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows that Gwaine would be proud. Only one of the pillows Mordred threw at him connected before he made it out the door.


	17. Chapter 17

“Merlin, what are we doing out here?”

“I am proving a point.”

“What point is there to be proved by riding out into the woods in the middle of the night?”

“It’s barely dusk!”

Mordred rolled his eyes with a huff but he seemed to accept that Merlin wasn’t going to spoil the surprise, crossing his arms over his chest--not as petulant a gesture as it could have been if he hadn’t had to move so gingerly--and letting his horse follow behind Merlin’s without guidance.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder, watching for any signs of fatigue or stress. They had only been back in Carthis for two days and, though the regular healing sessions were working wonders, Mordred wasn’t back to full health yet. If nothing else, he was still banned from coming within a hundred feet of either training field, much to his chagrin. But he was riding well under his own power, so Merlin gave himself permission to stop worrying over Mordred’s physical state for the time being.

His mental state was another thing entirely. Mordred had returned from his last visit to Kara looking pale and shaken but with a resolute sadness to him that told Merlin he had made his peace. He would not tell Merlin what words had passed between them, and Merlin didn’t press him on the matter. That pain would pass with time and Mordred needed to work through it alone. It was the rest of the damage Kara had done that worried Merlin.

Mordred had not spoken to Arthur before they left Camelot, had not even allowed Arthur to visit him and make sure that he was alright. He made clear over and over again that he would not stand to be near Camelot’s king for fear of what might happen. No matter how many times Merlin said that Arthur didn’t blame him, that Arthur wasn’t afraid or worried, that it wasn’t his fault and no one thought ill of him for it, Mordred would not be swayed. It seemed that he had given up all hope of thwarting the prophecies and given himself over to hopelessness instead.

That was about to stop.

The sun had set fully by the time Merlin reined Llamrei to a stop in a large clearing out of sight of the castle and dismounted. Mordred followed suit, glaring daggers at Merlin when he tried to offer him a hand. He got down on his own--rather less gracefully than usual but with all the dignity he could muster--and adjusted the sling on his right arm so it hung more comfortably. Then he looked around the clearing, searching for an explanation.

“Now are you going to tell me what we’re here for?” he asked peevishly.

Merlin smirked. “This.” He lifted his face to the sky and roared.

“ _ O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd’hup’anankes! _ ”

Merlin had to laugh at the startled look on Mordred’s face when he turned back to him. He had forgotten that Mordred had yet to hear him call a dragon before; he hadn’t had much occasion to consult with Kilgharrah in an official capacity since their last battle in Camelot, and for personal conversations he prefered to come out to the woods alone.

“Good gods,” Mordred said. “Is it always that loud?”

“Pretty much.”

“Why did you bring me out here for this?”

Merlin just shook his head and looked up to the sky, waiting for the silhouettes to appear against the clouds. He didn’t have to wait long. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before the whoosh of wings resounded through the still night air and gusts of wind buffeted them back to the edge of the clearing.

Kilgharrah touched down first, his bulk sending a tremor through the ground despite his graceful landing. Aithusa, a bright smudge of white against the growing darkness of the night, soared over their heads and circled the clearing twice before finally gliding to a stop before them, spreading his wings wide and giving a full-body shake like a wet dog.

“Merlin!” he cried.

“Look at you!” Merlin said, smiling wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. Aithusa lifted his head high, giving off the aura of a very satisfied cat preening in a particularly warm sunbeam, and allowed Merlin to run hands over his scales. “Smooth, strong, and healthy. Just as you always should have been. You look fantastic.”

“I know,” Aithusa said simply, settling his wings primly along his sides.

“Vanity is unbecoming, young one,” Kilgharrah said with all the disapproval he could muster.

It didn’t phase Aithusa a bit. Without missing a beat, he responded, “So is jealousy, old one.”

Merlin had to bite his fist to keep from laughing out loud; he had the feeling Kilgharrah might roast him on the spot if he did. As it was Kilgharrah was looking very sour indeed, but he only settled back on his haunches with a grouchy puff of smoke rather than blast anyone with fire. Aithusa looked to Merlin with something of a smile on his draconian face, mischief and humor in his bright eyes now where for so long there had been only pain and fear.

Something of the sad turn of his thoughts must have shown on Merlin’s face for Aithusa nudged his snout into Merlin’s stomach, the gesture as sweet and comforting as it had always been between them. Merlin chuckled and patted the smooth scales on his head. Aithusa looked up at him, his youth showing in the uncertain tilt of his head.

“How fared you in Camelot?” he asked. “You made it in time, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Arthur is safe?”

“He’s fine. And I think he misses you,” Merlin added.

Aithusa perked up for a moment at that, probably thinking of all the treats Arthur would lavish on him when next they saw each other. Then he shuffled his feet.

“And Sarrum?”

Merlin laid a reassuring hand on Aithusa’s neck. “He’s dead, Aithusa,” he said softly. “I saw it myself. He will never harm you again, I promise you that.”

Merlin had taken more pleasure in witnessing Sarrum’s execution than he liked to admit. He had never been a big proponent of execution in general and he had made a point over the years of avoiding as many of them as he possibly could, but he had travelled across kingdoms to stand front and center for this one.

He wasn’t the only one; even Gwen had gone and, where she usually turned away from such sights, she had watched the whole thing with an unforgiving look on her face that Merlin had never seen there before. She too had been sickened to hear of what Sarrum had done to Aithusa, to  _ Morgana _ who had been her best friend for so many years. She had clutched Merlin’s hand when the axe fell, but she hadn’t looked away for a second.

Perhaps Merlin shouldn’t celebrate a life lost, a life taken, but he could not help the feeling of relief to know the horrid man was gone from this world. There was nothing Merlin could do to make up for the wrongs he had done Morgana when she was alive, but at least he had seen to it that her torturer was brought to justice. With that, maybe Morgana’s wayward spirit could rest a bit easier.

Aithusa would certainly sleep better at night. Even now his relief was a palpable force, the vicarious sensation of long fear lifting free sending a shiver down Merlin’s spine. Aithusa leapt into the sky, roaring in triumph as he sailed through the air once more. He landed clumsily this time, sloppy in his giddiness, and nearly crashed right into Mordred still hovering half-hidden at the edge of the clearing.

“Mordred!” Aithusa said, both pleased and surprised. He had only seen Mordred a handful of times over the months in which they had both resided in Carthis. Mordred tended to avoid the Roosts, opting not to accompany Merlin there more often than not, for fear of running into the one who had first prophesied his villainy. Aithusa, on the other hand, had never shown any aversion to him. Now he bumped his head against Mordred’s shoulder, playful as only one so young could be, but his new size meant it was still hard enough to nearly knock him off his feet.

“Careful, Aithusa,” Merlin laughed. “He’s injured. Be gentle with him.”

Aithusa nuzzled Mordred’s side more gingerly and Mordred patted his head, smiling helplessly.

Kilgharrah was not as taken with the show of affection. “Why have you brought him here?” he asked, his tone forbidding.

“Yes, Merlin, why exactly did you bring me here?” Mordred asked with a quaver in his voice, unable to look away from Kilgharrah but equally unable to meet the dragon’s eye directly.

“I told you,” Merlin said. “To prove a point.”

“And what point is that?” Mordred snapped, wrong-footed and frustrated.

“That you’re not a danger to Arthur.”

A plume of flame burst from Kilgharrah’s mouth, too small to actually reach any of them but enough to send Mordred reeling backward in shock and fear. He fell against Aithusa’s side and the smaller dragon wrapped a wing around him protectively.

“What is the meaning of this?” Kilgharrah growled at Merlin, hackles raised. “The boy is  _ dangerous _ . You have always known this!”

Merlin opened his mouth to argue, to defend Mordred’s character and the fallibility of prophecy in general, but Aithusa spoke first.

“No, he isn’t.”

Everyone turned to look at him in surprise, Mordred included. Aithusa nudged Mordred back onto his feet and took up a place beside him, sitting on his haunches and curling his long tail around Mordred’s feet. He looked up at the enraged Kilgharrah with no hint of fear.

“I sense no danger in him,” Aithusa said. “I never have.”

“The druid boy will be Arthur Pendragon’s downfall,” Kilgharrah insisted, pressing forward even though it was plain that his looming didn’t intimidate Aithusa in the least. “It has always been his fate. That was Seen long ago.”

“You are not the only one with the Sight, Elder,” Aithusa countered, almost serene in his unconcern for Kilgharrah’s righteous fury. “And it would seem that you and I have Seen very different things. Perhaps you should look again.”

Kilgharrah looked almost affronted at the suggestion, at the very implication that he might be mistaken. He stared at Aithusa for a long time, looking more taken aback than Merlin had ever seen, and Merlin and Mordred exchanged a worried glance as they waited for him to react.

Finally, something in Aithusa’s manner must have convinced him because he pulled back from his aggressive stance. He settled close to the ground and lowered his head, his long neck a graceful arch. His luminous gold eyes closed and he fell still and silent. Merlin wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way; a wash of magic permeated the air around them, an intense and primal upwelling that somehow felt both calm and riotous at once, and Merlin floated in it, dazed, until Kilgharrah raised his head once more. His eyes, once opened, seemed to glow brighter than before.

“Curious,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Very curious.”

“Excuse me,” Mordred said, Aithusa’s warmth at his back giving him strength and courage, “but what’s curious?”

Kilgharrah turned his gaze to Mordred again but this time he did not move to attack. He simply gazed at him through narrowed eyes, leaning down to peer more closely. Mordred did not back away, though Merlin did hear him swallow from halfway across the clearing. Kilgharrah did not answer Mordred’s question. Instead he stood tall again and turned to Merlin.

“It seems that Fate is not as unmoving as it once was,” he said, sounding more thoughtful than disgruntled about it.

Merlin’s heart leapt in his chest. “Meaning?” he asked, needing the clarification, needing Kilgharrah to say it out loud where Mordred could hear.

“What once was foreseen is no longer so,” the dragon intoned. “It would seem that the dark stain on  Arthur’s path has been washed away.”

“The dark stain,” Mordred said, breathless. “That...that’s me?”

“No,” Merlin said, rushing forward to take Mordred by the shoulders. “It  _ was _ you. But not anymore.”

“Not…” Mordred looked at him with bright eyes, not quite believing his words.

“Kilgharrah,” Merlin called. He turned to look up at him, the one who had set them both on their paths so long ago. “Tell me plainly. Is it still Mordred’s fate to end Arthur’s life?”

Kilgharrah took his sweet time in answering, every empty second seeing Mordred tenser and tenser as he waited for judgment to be passed. Finally: “No.”

Merlin’s whoop of triumph echoed around the clearing, though it was soon drowned out by Aithusa’s celebratory roar. Mordred seemed to be in shock, standing motionless even as Merlin clapped him on the back and gave him a shake.

“Do you hear that, Mordred?” Merlin asked. “Do you hear it? You’re not a threat! You swore you would overcome your fate, and you  _ did _ !”

“But...but how?” he asked weakly, wide-eyed and looking so terribly young in his fragile hope.

“The future is not immutable,” Kilgharrah told him. “Very little is truly fixed. I believed your fate to be one such instance,” he admitted, “but I have been proved wrong. Your fate is now your own.”

“My own.” Mordred swayed on his feet and Merlin reached out to steady him.

“Mordred,” Merlin said, waiting until the young man looked at him. “Your life is yours to live. You make your own fate.”

“I don’t have to hurt Arthur,” Mordred said, though it was so uncertain that it almost sounded like a question. Merlin nodded and Mordred said it again, more firmly. “I never have to hurt him. I’m not a danger. I’m  _ not _ .”

Tears fell, streaking Mordred’s cheeks as he repeated it over and over again, and Merlin had to hold back tears of his own. He pulled Mordred into a hug, squeezing the boy as tightly as he dared for fear of agitating his healing injuries. Mordred hugged him back with his good arm and began to laugh, helpless in his relief and his joy. He laughed even when Aithusa jostled them hard enough to send them both to the ground. Merlin laughed with him and when he looked up, even Kilgharrah seemed to be smiling down at them.

“You have been given a second chance, little Druid,” the dragon said. “Few are so lucky. See that you use it wisely.”

“I will,” Mordred said, pushing himself to his feet to face Kilgharrah squarely. “I swear to you now that I will.”

Kilgharrah reared up, spreading his wings wide. “Look forward with hope in your hearts,” he said. “Perhaps this is the beginning of a new era.”

He leapt into the air without waiting for a reply, the treetops swaying in his wake. The downdraft of his first wingbeat made Mordred stumble, but a second gust from behind set him straight again. Aithusa circled Mordred twice, cutting through the air on nimble wings and coming to hover in the air before him.

“A new day is dawning,” he said. “For all of us.”

Mordred laughed against, free and uninhibited, as Aithusa’s flame chased the darkness from the skies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we have reached the end of the second installment! It took me a long time to get this far, lol, but I made it through. -whew-
> 
> Next in line? I've got a oneshot companion piece that I'll be posting in a few days, just something cute and completely drama-free for once, so look forward to that. And THEN I will start work on part III, because yes there will be a part III for sure!! I've got a premise for it, some key points, still working on getting a solid outline hammered out.
> 
> Stayed tuned, folks!


End file.
